


And the gods have fashioned us for love

by AegonVI



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Conspiracy, F/M, R plus L equals J, Slow Burn, Targaryen Restoration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-03-06 11:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13410024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AegonVI/pseuds/AegonVI
Summary: Everyone knows the sad story that is told of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his Lady Lyanna Stark.  Very few know the truth that isn't told - the truth about the Tower of Joy, and the conspiracy that was hatched there.Seventeen years later, Lord Eddard Stark contemplates the decisions he's made from a black cell in the Red Keep.  Across the Narrow Sea, the last dragons prepare for their return to Westeros and the fire and blood they bring with them.





	1. Chapter 1

_"There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man." - A Game of Thrones, George R.R. Martin_

King’s Landing  
Lord Eddard Stark had a lot of time to think these days. It was all there was to do, in fact. The black cell he was being held in allowed for time to reflect that he hadn’t had much time to do while he served as Hand to the King for Robert Baratheon. Robert was dead now, and Ned didn’t have any illusions that he wouldn’t soon follow the king in death. Treason wasn’t usually overlooked by the crown, and he doubted that King Joffrey would make an exception for a man who named him a bastard and tried to deny him his throne.

  
Ned Stark wasn’t afraid to die. He had faced the very real possibility of death many times in battle. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t afraid. Ned was terrified. He knew that his actions which had put in the black cells had also left his daughters to an unknown fate. Were Sansa and Arya down here somewhere? Had they escaped somehow? Were they even alive?

  
Ned didn’t want to think about the horrible fates that might befall his family, but there was no way to escape these thoughts. Not down in this black cell, where no light penetrated. Even if he could escape his thoughts, his honor would not allow him to do so. He had made so many mistakes. His suffering would end when Joffrey called for head, but what of Sansa’s suffering? What of Arya’s?

  
Ned didn’t want to think about how his blunder had caused him to break the promise he had made seventeen years before. A bed of blood, and a desperate plea.

  
_Promise me, Ned. Promise me._

  
Who would protect Jon now, Ned wondered. Ned hadn’t anticipated Robert Baratheon’s death or his request that Ned Serve as regent after his death. It was an opportunity that Ned couldn’t overlook, so he tried to take measures to see Robert’s last will was carried out. If it were possible to do this without bloodshed… Ned couldn’t complete the thought. There would plenty of blood spilled now, he knew. His would be the first, but it would not be the last. He had trusted the wrong people. He had miscalculated. He had prioritized the wrong things. He knew that now, now that he had time to reflect.

  
_I’m sorry Lyanna. I failed you._

  
Ned ignored the pain in his leg. It throbbed with pain, but the pain of his failure hurt more. What’s a spear to the leg compared to dooming everyone you love to destruction?

  
Ned heard the sound of footsteps coming toward his cell. He squinted at the torchlight when his visitor stopped in front of him. When he was able to see past the light he was so unused to, he saw the familiar sight of Lord Varys and another man behind him who was still unrecognizable in the low light of the dungeon. Varys unlocked the cell, and grabbed his arm to help him to his feet.

  
“We need to hurry, Lord Stark. There is isn’t much time,” Varys said.

_17 years earlier_  
_The Tower of Joy_  
Ned was surprised how small the Tower of Joy was. He was expecting something more formidable; it seemed that this small square tower would be insufficient to imprison his wild, wolf-blooded sister. Ned had travelled the length of Westeros to find Lyanna, and he was finally at the end of his journey. He would rescue Lyanna and bring her home to Winterfell. The war was over, for better or worse, and it was time to go home. He hated the heat of the south. He hated the terrible things that had happened in the south as well. Ned, Howland Reed, and the rest of their party stopped their horses near the tower and dismounted. He instantly recognized the two Kingsguard who guarded the tower – Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning; and Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Two legendary knights to be sure, but Ned had seven seasoned warriors in his party. The Kingsguard were outnumbered; nothing was going to stop him from reaching Lyanna.

  
“Lord Stark,” Arthur greeted Ned. “I looked for you on the Trident,” Ned said. “We weren’t there,” Arthur replied. “Your friend the Usurper would lie beneath the ground if we had,” Gerold added. “The Mad King is dead. Rhaegar lies beneath the ground. Why weren’t you there to protect your prince?” Ned asked angrily. “Our prince wanted us here,” Arthur said. Ned looked up at the tower. “Where’s my sister?” Ned demanded. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.” Arthur said. Arthur raised his helm to put it on.

  
Ned pulled Ice from its scabbard and threw it to the ground. “I didn’t come here to fight you, ser. I came for Lyanna. I was told she was here. I arrive here, and see two Kingsguard. Kingsguard are meant to protect the royal family. Aerys is dead, Rhaegar is dead. Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon were murdered by Lannister butchers. Rhaella and Viserys are on Dragonstone, most likely planning to flee from Westeros. I hope for their sake that they are. There aren’t any Targaryens here from you two to protect. So why are you here?” Ned stared at Arthur, his face impassive. Arthur’s hand rested on Dawn’s pommel and didn’t answer. Ned prayed that he hadn’t made a mistake. “I only want my sister back. That’s all I wanted from the start. If she’s here by choice, I will leave peacefully. If she wants to leave, it makes no sense for you to keep her here with Rhaegar being dead. A death, incidentally, I never asked for or wanted. The usurper, as you call him, is no friend of mine. I didn’t fight for a crown, and I didn’t fight to spill innocent blood. I fought for my sister. I would never harm her. If she’s here, just let me see her.”

  
Arthur glanced at Gerold, who nodded. Ned suppressed a sigh of relief. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the northmen and released his hold on Dawn. “Have your men lay down their arms, and I’ll take you – just you – inside,” Arthur said. Ned looked to his men and nodded. The northerners eyed the two Kingsguard warily but put their weapons on the ground. Ned followed Arthur up the stairs into the tower.

  
The smell of blood hung in the air. She was pale and weak, nothing like the strong and willful girl he’d last seen before the war. But she was Lyanna. Ned rushed to her side at the blood-soaked bed.

  
“Ned?” she gasped. “Lyanna.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Narrow Sea

Ned woke to the feeling of the rocking of the boat.  Disoriented and weak, he looked around the cabin.  He saw Arthur Dayne standing a few feet away from him.  Ned struggled to remember how he got here.  The Red Keep.  Varys, he thought to himself.  Ned tried to speak and what came out sounded so weak and unlike his own voice.  His mind was clouded, but he felt no pain as he did before.  Milk of the poppy, he thought absently.

_Sansa.  Arya._

“Where am I?” Ned asked Arthur.  “We’re on a ship bound for Pentos, Lord Stark.  Your leg is badly injured.  We treated your wound and gave you milk of the poppy, but you need rest.  It will be a few days before we arrive,” Arthur said.  “Pentos,” Ned said, his voice still weak.  “Why are we going to Pentos?”  “Events in King’s Landing have forced our hand.  The usurper’s fledgling dynasty is in chaos.  A mad boy sits the throne, and the acting Lord of Winterfell has already risen up against him.  The time to act is now,” Arthur stated calmly.

Ned forced the fog from his mind and made an attempt to sit up.  “Acting Lord of Winterfell?” Ned asked, although it wasn’t really a question.  “You mean my son, Robb?  He’s called our banners?”  Arthur nodded.  “He’s gone south with a host of 20,000 men, my lord.  To free you.  We’re in the process of getting word to him now.”

Ned shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing.  “He’s just a boy,” Ned said.  Ned thought of his good-natured son, wooden sword in hand, sparring with Jon in the yard at Winterfell.  Arthur raised an eyebrow.  “Boys go to war all the time.  You weren’t much older when you did the same, Lord Stark.  I remember very well.”

_That’s true enough, my friend.  I remember._

“What of Sansa and Arya, Ser Arthur?  Are they here?” Ned asked.  “I’m sorry, my lord, but we were not able to rescue anyone but you.  With your injury and the urgency of getting you out of King’s Landing before the boy usurper could have you killed, we didn’t have the ability to retrieve Lady Sansa.  She is being held in the Red Keep under heavy guard.  No one knows Lady Arya’s location.  Varys’ spies say that it is believed that she escaped King’s Landing shortly after your arrest, but no one knows for sure,” Arthur replied.

“I don’t care about my getting rescued!” Ned bellowed, his strength returning.  “I only care about my daughters!”  Arthur hung his head, obviously ashamed.  “I’m sorry, my lord.  Truly.  We had to act fast.  It was just Varys and myself.  I think that Lady Sansa will be treated gently.  She’s a valuable hostage.  And we will rescue her soon, and Lady Arya as well,” Arthur said.  Ned winced.  Sansa a “valuable hostage.”  He wanted to wretch.  “Turn back.  I want to get Sansa now, not later.  We know where she is, correct?  Perhaps Sansa knows where Arya is.”

Arthur straightened, and in that moment Ned saw the man who had faced him seven to two in Dorne, ready to fight for his dead prince.  “We’re nearly to Pentos, Lord Stark.  I will await my king’s command regarding the matter of rescuing Lady Sansa and Lady Arya,” Arthur said firmly.  “Your king?” Ned questioned, confused.  “King Aegon,” Arthur answered wryly.  “I think you’ve met?”

 

_17 years earlier_

_The Tower of Joy_

“Is that you?  Is that really you?  You’re not a dream?” Lyanna said.  “No, I’m not a dream,” Ned replied.  “I’m here.  Right here,” Ned replied.  “I’ve missed you, big brother,” Lyanna said, struggling for breath.  “I missed you too,” Ned said.  “I want to be brave,” Lyanna said.  “You are,” Ned said.  “I’m not,” Lyanna countered.  “I don’t want to die.”  “You’re not going to die,” Ned said, tears in his eyes.  “Get her some water.”  “No, no water,” Lyanna said.  “Is there a maester?” Ned asked, desperately.

“Listen to me Ned.  If Robert finds out, he’ll kill him.  You know he will.  His name is Aegon Targaryen.  You have to protect him.  Promise me, Ned.  Promise me.”  A wet nurse approached Ned, holding a baby wrapped in a thin blanket.  The baby opened his eyes, and Ned’s gray eyes met the baby’s matching ones as the wet nurse handed the small bundle to him.  “Promise me, Ned,” Lyanna begged.  “Promise me.”  “I promise,” Ned said, looking into Lyanna’s eyes.  Lyanna smiled, took a shallow breath, and was gone.

Ned knelt crying next at Lyanna’s bedside holding Aegon for a long time.  How long, he couldn’t say.  Eventually he looked up, and saw that Ser Arthur was crying too.  Ned got up, and wiped his eyes.  It was too late to conceal his tears, but nonetheless, he was the Lord of Winterfell and had to be strong in front of this Kingsguard.  Ned saw that Arthur was composing himself as well.

“My men and I will take Lady Lyanna’s body to Winterfell to be buried with her ancestors,” Ned declared.  “Princess Lyanna,” Arthur corrected.  Ned gaped, but recovered quickly.  He struggled to remember that he was the Lord of Winterfell, and raised his head with as much nobility as he could muster.  “Princess Lyanna, of course.  My apologies, ser.  She should be laid to rest with her family in Winterfell’s crypt.  I’ll take the baby as well.”  Arthur stepped forward a few paces.  “It’s my duty to guard the rightful king of the seven kingdoms.  You asked me to bring you to Lyanna.  There she is.  I am a Kingsguard, my lord.  My duty is to guard the king.  Ser Arthur and I mean to take King Aegon to Essos to join his remaining family, Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys.” 

Ned tightened his grip on Aegon.  He had to think fast.  He couldn’t just let this stranger take Lyanna’s boy away from him.  He knew of Ser Arthur, of course, but he didn’t know him truly.  Lyanna’s boy belonged at Winterfell.  He was a Stark.  Starks belong in Winterfell.  Ned thought of the baby’s gray eyes and black hair.  He didn’t look like a Targaryen, not at all.  “There’s no safer place for Princess Lyanna’s babe than with me.  Look at him, ser.  He has every bit the look of a King of Winter.  And if you mean for him to be a king here in Westeros, he must be raised as a true Westerosi.  I am the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.  There’s no safer place for a Stark than with me,” Ned declared.  Arthur scowled.  “I am a Kingsguard, my lord.  I must guard the king.  Prince Rhaegar ordered me to do so.”

Ned was implacable.  “You are a Kingsguard, Ser Arthur, and you will guard the royal family.  Go to Essos.  Guard Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys.  I will take care of King Aegon, and prepare him for the day he will take his rightful place as king.”

Arthur shook his head.  “You rebelled against the throne.  How could we trust you with Rhaegar’s heir?  How do I know you won’t deliver him to meet the same fate as Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys?  This babe is a threat to the throne of the usurper, which you just helped him win!”

“You would name me a kinslayer, ser?  It was because of the slaying of my kin that I rebelled in the first place!  This is my nephew by blood!  I’ll not have any harm come to him!”  Ned breathed deeply and tried to calm his speech.  “Ser Arthur.  I have come to know many hard truths since this war started.  Yes, Robert was my friend.  He is no longer.  A man who condones the butchering of innocent women and children is no friend of mine.”  Ned took a breath and spoke more softly.  “You weren’t there.  I was.  I saw the Targaryen babes wrapped in blood-soaked Lannister cloaks presented to Robert before the throne.  I saw how he smiled and called them dragonspawn.  I saw how he pardoned the acts of the Kingslayer and the Lannister butchers.  We were enemies an hour ago, but now we’re friends, if you’ll allow it.  Let me raise the next true king of Westeros to be a true Westerosi.  To be a man of honor.  To be a Stark of Winterfell.  If you know anything, then you know what that means.”  Ned gave Arthur a hard look and continued.  “A man who throws down his sword when he means to make peace, even if it means his death.  And a man who will raise it, when it is time to make justice.”  Arthur looked at him, unsure.

“I know that I have done much to atone for.  Let me atone, and I won’t disappoint you.  King Aegon needs powerful allies if he is to take back the seven kingdoms.  I will be his first and most loyal ally.  I was wrong about Rhaegar.  I know that now.  Let me raise his son to be a good king,” Ned pleaded.

“How?” Arthur asked.  “I will claim him as my bastard son, and his name will be Jon Snow.  I’ll take him to Winterfell and he will be raised no different than my trueborn son,” Ned said.  “A bastard?” Arthur replied, incensed.  “It will keep him safe.  Robert wouldn’t dare question my word.  And when the time comes, he will be ready to take his throne,” Ned replied.  “And what of his family?” Arthur questioned. 

Ned thought a moment.  He knew that his quickly formulated scheme had a few holes.  “When Aegon is thirteen years old, I’ll send him to you to be your squire.  He’ll get to know his Targaryen family, and you can refine his fighting skill.  We’ll work together to build alliances for him to take back the throne in the meantime.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.  “Please excuse me if I doubt your ability to take part in such a scheme, Lord Stark.  Your reputation precedes you.  I have trouble believing you.”  Ned glared at the Kingsguard knight.

“Believe it,” Ned said.  “The north remembers.  I will not allow House Stark to disgrace itself by standing idly by while a child murderer starts a new dynasty.  I will ensure that the future Targaryen kings only bring fire and blood to the guilty.  King Aegon, Sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, will not be a madman like Aerys or a butcher like Robert.  You have my word.”

Arthur nodded in acquiescence.  “It’s a reasonable plan.  What about Ser Gerold and myself?  How will you explain how you were able to retrieve Lyanna’s body from this place?”  Ned thought a moment.  “You’re dead.  And I’ll need to take Dawn to Starfall.  I’ll have one of my men give you another sword.”  Arthur grimaced, but handed Dawn to Ned.  “Varys is loyal.  Use him to get in touch when you need to,” Arthur said.  Ned approached Arthur and held out his hand.  Arthur shook Ned’s hand and said softly, “Take good care of him, Ned.  Lyanna was everything to me.”  “I will,” Ned replied.   


	3. Chapter 3

Pentos

Ned looked around at the luxurious manse that was home to Illyrio Mopatis.  A wealthy magister of Pentos, Mopatis’ home dripped with opulence.  It reminded Ned of just how far away he was from Winterfell and his family.  He longed for home and cursed himself for having left it.  He wondered if Jon had felt the same when he came here.  Jon was a serious and quiet boy when he left.  He doubted his humble nephew would have enjoyed these trappings of wealth.

Ned was glad of the magister’s wealth, though.  Varys had recommended bringing Mopatis on as an ally years before, and Ned knew it was useful to have such a wealthy person aligned with their cause.  Mopatis had his own agenda and wasn’t helping them out of love for House Targaryen, Ned knew.  He wasn’t overly concerned about it.  Mopatis could build a new wing to his palace made entirely of Lannister gold for all he cared.  It wasn’t as if there weren’t people in Westeros already lining their pockets with the kingdom’s wealth.  Ned was practical enough to appreciate that nothing useful came for free.  He was happy that Jon had a safe place to live while in Pentos and didn’t have to live on the run, as Viserys and Daenerys had been forced to do at first.

The magister greeted Ned and Arthur on the large veranda.  “Lord Stark, it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.  The king has told me so much about you.  I hope your journey was pleasant.  Ser Arthur, I’m pleased to see you’ve returned to us in one piece.”

“Thank you for receiving me, Magister.  I need to speak with my nephew, the king.  May I see him?” Ned asked.  “Certainly, my lord,” Mopatis replied.  “He is on his way here now.”  Just then, Jon, a young woman with silver hair, and a young man with a disturbing resemblance to the Mad King walked towards them.  Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen, Ned thought.  He again thanked the gods that Jon had his mother’s coloring.  Ned would have never been able to hide Jon at Winterfell if he had looked like his aunt and uncle.

Ned had been saddened when he heard of Queen Rhaella’s death in childbirth, but was relieved to find out that her newborn daughter Daenerys and her son Viserys had escaped Dragonstone before Robert’s brother Stannis captured the island.  While Stannis was a better man than Robert, Ned knew that his loyalty to his brother would have doomed the children if they hadn’t gotten away.  The deaths of Rhaegar’s two eldest children still haunted Ned.  Robert’s glee at the Lannisters’ brutality had shocked him, and Ned couldn’t help but blame himself.  He wondered if Viserys and Daenerys blamed him as well.  They probably would not be happy to see the man responsible for the rebellion which had killed nearly all their kin.

As Jon approached him, Ned tried to kneel despite the injury to leg.  Showing his loyalty to the true king might help matters with the two other Targaryens, Ned thought.  Jon laughed and stopped him with a hug.  “None of that, Uncle!  I’m so glad you’re alive.  We were all so worried when we heard what happened in King’s Landing.”  Jon turned to Daenerys and Viserys.  “Aunt and Uncle, I want to introduce you to my uncle, Lord Eddard Stark.  Uncle Ned, this is my uncle, Prince Viserys; and my aunt, Princess Daenerys.”

Jon had changed since leaving Winterfell, Ned thought.  He seemed so happy here with his father’s family.  Gone was the sullen boy Ned remembered, so serious and quiet.  Ned had missed the boy he had considered his own son for the past four years.  Despite having come up with the plan himself, Ned had been loath to part with him. 

Memories of the boy he had raised since he was a day old flooded Ned’s mind, but he shook them away.  He knew he could not let them be part of this moment.  He had to focus on his purpose here.  Jon wasn’t a boy anymore; he was a king.

“Prince Viserys, Princess Daenerys.  It is good to meet you,” Ned said.  He turned to Jon.  “Your Grace, I thank you for sending Ser Arthur and Lord Varys to rescue me from the Lannisters.  But they still hold my daughters hostage in the Red Keep.  I know they have Sansa at least. I ask your leave to return to King’s Landing so I can get them to safety.”

Jon looked at Arthur, aghast.  The serious face Ned remembered had returned.  “Why weren’t you able to rescue my cousins?” Jon asked.  Arthur winced.  “Lady Sansa is being held under heavy guard away from the dungeons.  It is thought that Lady Arya escaped the capital after Lord Stark’s arrest.  As Lord Stark was badly injured, it wasn’t possible to rescue your cousins, Your Grace,” Arthur replied.

Jon closed his eyes as if in pain and blew out a breath.  He then straightened and looked at Ned.  “Lord Stark, I cannot grant your request.  You are still recovering from your injury.  I’d have you stay here in Pentos with Magister Illyrio.”  Jon turned to Arthur, determined.  “Ser Arthur, make all the necessary preparations for the two of us to travel to King’s Landing.”

Both Ned and Daenerys attempted to protest.  “Enough,” Jon said with authority.  “How can I sit here in this palace and call myself king while the queen is held captive by the usurper?  I will go and retrieve her myself.  Uncle Viserys, get word to Varys.  Ask him to contact me when Ser Arthur and I arrive in the capital.  And tell him to find Arya.  I need to get her too.”

 

_13 years earlier_

_Winterfell_

Ned walked with Varys through Winterfell’s godswood and stopped near his usual spot under the heart tree.  Ned came here as much as he could; it was a peaceful place where he could clear his mind.  It was also a quiet place where he would not be overheard.  He knew that no one would disturb him while he was here.

“Your little girl is beautiful, my lord,” Varys said.  “My congratulations.”  “Thank you, my lord.  You’re very kind.  Lady Stark and I are very blessed to have little Sansa,” Ned replied.  “I heard you rang Winterfell’s bells all day the day she was born,” Varys said.  Ned nodded.  “I did.”

“How fares your nephew, Jon?” Varys asked.  Ned smiled.  “He is well.  Growing so fast.  Even at four years old, he’s a natural with a sword.  A wooden sword, of course.”  Varys laughed.  “That’s good news.  I’m sure our mutual friend will be pleased to hear it.  Less work for him when the time comes.”

_When the time comes_ , Ned thought.  He wasn’t looking forward to it, but knew it was necessary.  Ned had become very attached to his young nephew.  He didn’t even really think of Jon as his nephew anymore; his fiction had taken the form of truth in his heart, and he thought of Jon as his son.  Catelyn had been furious when she had arrived at Winterfell with his infant son Robb to find Ned’s bastard son was already in residence.  He hated lying to Catelyn, but he had barely known her when they married.  Ned hadn’t known if he could trust the stranger who was his wife, and he didn’t want to burden her with the truth.  His family was in enough danger as it was.

Catelyn’s fury was an easy burden for Ned to bear, but it was not going to be as easy for Jon.  Catelyn had warmed to Ned not long after discovering her husband’s ostensible betrayal, but her hatred towards Jon seemed to only grow stronger as time passed.  Jon was already old enough to notice.  Maybe the time had come to tell her the truth.  Ned was sure at this point that Catelyn could be trusted, but he dreaded telling her regardless.  If his treason was discovered, it would be better for Catelyn to know nothing.

“And what of the north, my lord?  How does it fare?  I get so few opportunities to visit these lands,” Varys said.  Ned sighed.  “The people are still recovering from the war.  They’re angry still.  We’ve all lost so much.”  Varys looked at Ned knowingly.  “Ah yes.  Resentment against the dragons, I imagine?”  “Yes, all of them,” Ned said, grimacing.  “I’m not quite sure how to handle it.  Robert hasn’t taken effective action to help the kingdom heal, but the people blame Rhaegar and the Mad King for everything anyway.  And nothing can bring back our dead.  There’s nothing to do about that.”

“I think I may have a solution, at least as far as making our plans more palatable,” Varys said.  “I know it’s quite early for a formal betrothal, but your daughter could help with this quite a bit.”  Ned looked at Varys, shocked.  “A betrothal?  You mean to have Jon and Sansa marry?”  “It solves the problem rather neatly.  Northerners may hate the Targaryens, but they love you Starks.  We have a half-Stark northern dragon, nephew to the beloved Warden of the North…”  “I’m not so sure I’m _beloved_ ,” Ned mumbled, interrupting.  Varys continued.  “…And a northern queen, his half-Stark, half-Tully daughter.  What northerner or riverlord would object to such a pair on the Iron Throne?” Varys asked.

“Things will continue to get worse the longer Robert Baratheon rules the kingdoms.  Lord Arryn does his best as Hand, but he can’t save Robert from himself.  You know as well as I that he is in a near-constant state of drunkenness.  Instead of using the royal treasury to help recover from the rebellion, he wastes mountains of gold on frivolities like tourneys and redecorating the Red Keep,” Varys said.  “The lords of Westeros and the common people won’t be able to justify blaming the Mad King forever.”

“The people aren’t going to be happy to find out that I lied to them.  I don’t know how beloved House Stark will be if people don’t think my word can be trusted,” Ned said.  “That was always going to be an issue, Lord Stark.  And you had a very good reason for doing what you did.  People will understand.  Most of them, I would say,” Varys argued.  “This betrothal will help matters.”

Ned sighed.  He could understand Varys’ arguments, but it was still overwhelming to think of his little Sansa involved in his plot.  And he had no idea how he could convince Catelyn.  “I’ll think on it,” Ned said.  “And I have to speak to Lady Catelyn.  It’s time she knows the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about Viserys:  
> In this AU, Viserys has not developed his father's madness. It is theorized that Aerys II's madness was triggered by the stress of his captivity during the Defiance of Duskendale. In the canon storyline, Viserys has to deal with the stress of living his life on the run and trying to retake his father's crown. In this story, Varys and Mopatis intervened early, sparing Viserys and Daenerys many years of running and living as paupers. Additionally, in this story, Viserys and Daenerys have always known about Jon so Viserys never considered himself the rightful king. It's possible that the Targaryen madness could come later in his life, but at this point he is not mad and is close with his sister and nephew.


	4. Chapter 4

King’s Landing

Jon had known for the past four years that he’d eventually return to Westeros, but this hadn’t been the homecoming that he’d imagined.  His Uncle Viserys seemed to think that Jon would be welcomed to King’s Landing by cheering crowds waving dragon banners and screaming his name.  It had been kind of his uncle to encourage him, but even at thirteen, Jon had known that it would probably not be quite like that.  Jon had never even seen a dragon banner until he met his aunt and uncle.  For many years in Westeros, though, Jon had heard tell of the Mad King and his evil son Prince Rhaegar who had kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark.

Lord Stark had never told him that tale; he had heard it from others.  His Uncle Ned had never talked about Lyanna at all in fact, until one terrible day four years ago when everything Jon thought he knew had cracked all around him.

He wasn’t Ned Stark’s son.  The man who had raised him wasn’t his father.  His brothers weren’t his brothers.  His sisters weren’t his sisters.  Not only were his parents and most his other family dead, but his father was the hated Rhaegar Targaryen.  It mattered little to Jon that the stories about the kidnapping and rape were lies.  Jon owed his existence to the death of thousands of his countrymen.  Even four years later, the idea weighed heavily on his conscience. 

What was far worse than that though was the fact that he was being sent away.  Jon was as shocked as anyone would have been to hear that Ser Arthur Dayne was alive.  Jon had heard many times the legend of how Lord Stark had killed the Sword of the Morning at the Tower of Joy.  But that was a lie too.  While it was certainly an honor to be a squire to such a legendary knight, Jon hated the idea of being sent to Essos, so far away from the only family that he’d ever known.  In Essos he would have a new family.  His Aunt Daenerys and Uncle Viserys were in Pentos waiting for him.  Jon was glad that at least some of his Targaryen kin were alive, but he didn’t know them.  Viserys, Daenerys, and Ser Arthur would all be strangers to him. 

It hadn’t been an easy adjustment for Jon to go from the Bastard of Winterfell to the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.  Jon had told Ned that he didn’t want to be king.  “That’s how I know you will be a good king, Jon.  No man should want power.  A crown shouldn’t rest easy on your head,” his uncle had said.  “I raised you to be a Stark of Winterfell and a man of honor.  It doesn’t matter who your father is.  You will always be a Stark to me, even if you are a Targaryen and the King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Four years later, Jon didn’t feel much differently about being king, but he had come to accept his responsibility.  He understood that Westeros was suffering under the boot of Robert Baratheon’s drunken ineptitude and Lannister greed and cruelty.  It was much worse now than it had been, now that the boy usurper Joffrey had been put on the throne.  It would be worth it to have to sit on the blasted thing himself if it meant that Joffrey’s head would decorate the gates of the Red Keep.

So now Jon was back in Westeros for the first time in four years, and as he had predicted, no cheering common folk or waving dragon banners had greeted him.  That was for the best since no one but Varys was supposed to know that they were here.  The only greeting Jon received on arriving in King’s Landing was the overwhelming smell of shit.  _That’s the first thing I’m going to fix when I take the throne,_ Jon thought.  Jon waited in the dimly lit tavern for Arthur to return and pretended to drink his cup of ale.  The ale tasted foul and he wanted to keep his wits, besides.  Arthur was meeting with Varys to get the newest word from the Master of Whisperers.  They would need the most recent information about Sansa and Arya’s whereabouts if this mission was to be successful.

Arthur found Jon in the tavern.  The Kingsguard, like Jon, was disguised as a King’s Landing commoner.  It was unlikely that anyone would know their faces, but they hadn’t wanted to stand out.  It had been seventeen years since anyone in Westeros had seen Arthur Dayne, and Jon had never been to the capital before.  Nonetheless, they wanted to avoid any chance of being recognized.

“What news from Varys’ spies,” Jon asked Arthur quietly.  “It’s as we thought.  Lady Sansa is being held at the Red Keep, ostensibly not as a prisoner, but under constant guard.  There’s still no word of Lady Arya.  She hasn’t been seen since Lord Stark’s arrest.  It’s very unlikely that she’s still in the capital.  The Lannisters haven’t given up looking for her and every gold cloak in the city is supposed to be on the lookout for her,” Arthur said.

Arthur paused and looked away.  “There’s something else,” he said, his voice low.  Jon tensed.  _This must be bad for Arthur to react like this_ , he thought.  “Tell me,” Jon demanded.  Arthur grimaced.  “They’re claiming Lord and Lady Stark as rebels and enemies of the crown.  As such, they’ve claimed Lady Sansa as a ward of the crown.  They’re forcing her to marry the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.  Tomorrow,” Arthur said.

Jon clenched his fists and could feel himself heat up.  It was suddenly unbearably hot, and he had the urge to find someone, anyone, and beat his face in.  _Is this what they mean by “Blood of the dragon?”_ Jon thought idly.  Jon took a breath and forced himself to relax.  He recovered quickly and saw Arthur eyeing him curiously.  “This works well for us, actually,” Jon said calmly.  “We use the distraction of the wedding, rescue Sansa, and send our first Lannister to the deepest of the seven hells.  The first of many.  Varys planted the seeds.  Tywin must have realized that this was his only move, and it’s not going to work.”

Arthur nodded.  “Yes.  But we can also gain an unexpected advantage here as well.  We can take the Imp as a hostage,” Arthur said.  “Why would we want a Lannister dwarf as a hostage?” Jon asked, skeptical.  Jon wasn’t a bloodthirsty sort, but the opportunity to run his sword through a Lannister who thought to steal his queen was tempting.  “Why not?” Arthur replied breezily.  “If he’s useful, great.  If not, we’ll throw him into the sea.  For what our spies report, Tyrion Lannister is a drunk and a lecher.  Lord Tywin and the usurper queen both despise him.  Apparently, he is dreading this match nearly as much as Lady Sansa.”

“You can’t be serious.  The Imp, a drunken, lecherous dwarf, is dreading marrying Lady Sansa?” Jon said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.  He hadn’t seen Sansa in four years, but the girl he remembered had already begun to grow into a lovely young woman.  Surely good enough for the likes of the Lannister Imp.  Arthur shrugged.  “All I know is what Varys’ little birds report.  If we can use this to help our cause, it’s worth doing.  Maybe we can even convince the dwarf to cooperate with us.”  “How?” Jon asked.  “I don’t know yet.  We’ll have to question him to find out,” Arthur said.

“As long as the lecher doesn’t lay a finger on Lady Sansa, then I am in agreement,” Jon bit out.  Jon shuddered at the idea of the alternative.  “It will be as you command, Your Grace,” Arthur replied.  “We move tomorrow night, then,” Jon said.

 

_King’s Landing_

_2 weeks earlier_

“How could you let this happen?” Tywin Lannister roared.  The Lord of the Rock wasn’t pleased.  He hadn’t thought that King’s Landing would be managed competently in his absence, but he hadn’t expected complete disaster.  This was worse than that.  Not only had his son Jaime been taken captive by Robb Stark, his idiot daughter and her equally stupid son had managed to lose their most valuable hostage.  He couldn’t quite decide whether it was worse for them to have somehow let Eddard Stark escape or executed him, which apparently had been Joffrey’s plan.  _Stark is long gone by now_ , Tywin thought as his anger grew into rage.  He had been forced by this ridiculous turn of events to return to King’s Landing, leaving his army in the hands of his brother Kevan.  Kevan was probably fucking things up in his absence as well, no doubt.  He had thought to send Tyrion in his stead, but Tywin didn’t trust Tyrion to carry out these plans on his own.  The Stark problem had to be dealt with decisively, and Tywin could only count on himself to do things right.  _As always_ , he thought bitterly.

“I have all my little birds seeking information about Lord Stark’s escape,” Varys answered.  “At this point, their reports suggest he has likely left Westeros entirely.  There are no whispers in the Riverlands or the North about Stark being spotted there.  His destination is unclear, although Essos seems the most logical place for him to have fled to.”

“Why Essos?” Tywin asked.  “Why not take a ship to White Harbor and return home to Winterfell or meet his son at Riverrun?”  Tywin knew the chances of capturing Ned Stark were slim regardless of where he had fled, but the old lion did not like the idea of Stark somehow having acquired secret allies across the Narrow Sea.  Things were bad enough as it was.

“It’s possible that the people responsible for Lord Stark’s escape wanted him in Essos for their own reasons, not necessarily his,” Varys theorized. 

Tywin would rather the Spider give him facts rather than useless opinions, but obviously there no facts to be had.  Was everyone working in the Red Keep completely incompetent?  “The Targaryens?  Viserys and Daenerys?” Tywin asked, feeling suddenly chilled.  Surely not.  “Why would they want the man who brought down their house?”

“One of my little birds reports – and this is unconfirmed, of course – that there is a third Targaryen in Essos.  Ned Stark’s nephew, Aegon Targaryen,” Varys said.

“That’s impossible,” Tywin declared.  “Aegon Targaryen is dead, and he wasn’t Ned Stark’s nephew.”  Tywin’s voice had the tone of certainty, but his mind was pouring over the possibilities.  He remembered with a shock that Stark had a bastard son just the right age… _No_ , he thought.  The chill turned to ice in his veins.  _That’s impossible_ , he repeated to himself.

“No, no of course not.  This Aegon was supposedly born to Lyanna Stark before she died,” Varys added.

“I don’t believe it.  Some Blackfyre pretender, maybe,” Tywin said dismissively.  “See to it that he’s killed.  Viserys and Daenerys too.  And Ned Stark, the treasonous barbarian.  Robert failed repeatedly to deal with the Targaryen problem, and put entirely too much faith in his stupid boyhood friendship with Stark.  I won’t make the same mistake.”

“And what of Sansa?” Cersei Lannister asked, her voice dripping with malice.  “What of the traitor’s daughter?”

“She continues to be valuable hostage,” Tywin answered.  He was grateful that at least these fools hadn’t let his last possible option slip away.  He needed to buy some time to deal with Robert's brothers, who had both made claims on the Iron Throne and were already preparing their armies to attack his grandson.

“We should have Ser Ilyn take her head,” Cersei hissed.

“For what possible reason?” Tywin bellowed.  “We had three Starks to trade!  You let two escape and now you want to execute the third?  Are you mad or just stupid?”  Cersei seethed but said nothing.  “No.  Sansa Stark is the key to the North.  This green boy’s rebellion will soon be stamped out.  We will use the Stark girl to secure Lannister control over the North once Robb Stark is defeated,” Tywin said confidently, although inside he was far from confident.  _At the very least_ , he thought, _we can use her as leverage to keep the Stark problem contained_.

“How do you propose to do that?” Cersei asked.  Tywin resisted the urge to scream at his daughter.  “Tyrion, I’d speak with you alone,” Tywin said.  He looked at the others.  “Leave us.”  Cersei and the small council members scurried out of the chamber.

Tywin eyed his youngest son speculatively.  He had never put any faith in the little lecher, but Tyrion was his son.  Surely he would be able to handle this simple task.  “Tyrion, you will marry the Stark girl in a fortnight,” Tywin said authoritatively.  Tyrion gaped.  “She’s a child!” Tyrion protested.

Tywin’s control finally slipped away entirely.  He slammed his fist on the heavy wooden table between them.  “She’s flowered!  You will wed her, bed her, and put a child in her!  I will have this Stark problem dealt with!  You have no problem fucking whores; what problem could you possibly have bedding a beautiful, highborn maid?  It’s much more than you deserve!” Tywin yelled, his face red with fury.  “You will marry Sansa Stark, or you will find out what use the Night’s Watch might have for an ill-made, spiteful little creature like yourself.”

Tyrion said nothing.  He had seen Castle Black, and had no desire to return.  Benjen Stark would probably throw him from the top of the wall or perhaps feed him to his wolf.  He stood, bowed, and let out a deep sigh as Tywin stormed out the council chamber.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about character ages:  
> Show ages apply to most characters, except Myrcella and Sansa, who are aged up. That means Jon, Robb, Daenerys, Theon, and Joffrey are 16 at the beginning of the story; Myrcella is 15; and Sansa is 14.

Pentos

Ned Stark restlessly paced the gardens at Illyrio’s manse.  His leg finally healed, he was anxious to return home.  He worried for Sansa and Arya at the mercy of the Lannisters, for Jon on a dangerous rescue mission, and Robb pushed into war on his behalf.  Ned hated being idle and felt useless in Pentos.  He should be rescuing his daughters and leading his army against the Lannisters, not his children.

Ned also felt awkward around the Targaryens.  Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys had been kind and welcoming towards him, but he still had trouble believing that they weren’t angry about his actions during the rebellion.  Ned didn’t regret taking down the Mad King.  Aerys II Targaryen had been a cruel and unstable man and had murdered his father and brother in an unimaginably barbaric and criminal act.  Ned shuddered just thinking about it.  Nevertheless, Aerys had been Viserys and Daenerys’ father.  The rebellion had also claimed the life of their brother, which Ned did regret.  It had also forced them into exile.  Ned was starting to understand how that felt.

_Couldn’t you have sent a raven, Rhaegar?  Dear Lord Stark, your sister and I are in love and she’s run away with me.  Please don’t be mad.  Kind regards, Rhaegar Targaryen_.

_Not that hard_ , Ned thought bitterly.

Ned saw Daenerys walking towards him.  She was wearing a light, flowing dress and her long, unbraided hair floated around her like a silver cloud.  Her violet eyes regarded him kindly.  “You look troubled, Lord Stark,” Daenerys said.  “Jon and Ser Arthur are skilled fighters.  I know they will get your daughter to safety.”

“Forgive me, Princess,” Ned replied.  “I’m troubled abut many things, and being here, there’s very little I can do about any of it.  Jon’s just a boy.  I should be with them, at least.”

“He’s learned a lot since he arrived here.  And Jon would do anything to protect his family,” Daenerys said.

“Aye, he’s a good lad.  Always was, even as a boy,” Ned replied.  “It’s just hard not to worry about him.”

Daenerys smiled.  “You raised him well.  Jon’s a good king,” she said.

Ned somehow started to feel more relaxed talking to Daenerys.  She seemed so confident and serene.  Ned felt out of place in this opulent palace, but Daenerys matched it.  Luxuriously beautiful and peaceful, but he could sense that there was a fierce strength hidden in her as well.  “Thank you, Princess,” he said.

“You can call me Dany.  We’re family, right?” she said.

Ned nodded.  “Then you can call me Ned,” he replied.  “I suppose the title ‘Lord Stark’ means little when I’m living in exile, unable to take care of my people or protect my family.”  Ned looked into the distance, brooding.

“I know a little about that, I think.  Being an exile, anyway,” Dany said with a hint of laughter in her voice.

“I’m sorry Princess – Dany – of course,” Ned muttered awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about it.  It must take some getting used to.  I’ve never known anything else.  But I long to return home, as I’m sure you do.  It won’t be long now,” Dany said.

“You seem wise beyond your years, Dany,” Ned observed.

“Ser Gerold always says I’m an old soul.  I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not,” Dany said.

“I would that it were otherwise,” Ned replied.  “You should be home in Westeros, being a carefree princess.  I know that a lot of this is my fault.  I’m sorry.”

“How’s that?” Dany asked.  Her violet eyes regarded him speculatively.

“The rebellion,” Ned said, his voice low.  “What happened to your family.  What Robert did…” Ned stopped, unable to continue.

Dany took a step towards him and looked him in the eye.  Her violet eyes were filled with sincerity.  “Ned.  It’s not your fault.  What the usurper and the Lannisters did, only they should be blamed for.  Ser Arthur told us the truth.  I never knew my father; I never wanted to.  I know what he did to your family.  I know the usurper lied to you.  And I know what you’ve done to set things right.  You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Dany said reassuringly.

Ned wasn’t reassured, but he knew Dany was right.  Robert had been so insistent about getting revenge for Lyanna’s apparent abduction.  Brandon and their father had been convinced, but Ned had never been completely sure.  Ned had thought a match between Robert and Lyanna would be ideal and had advocated for it, but Lyanna hadn’t liked the idea.  She didn’t like that Robert had already fathered a bastard child and thought he would be unfaithful.  Ned had also noticed that Benjen was tight-lipped about the matter of Lyanna’s supposed kidnapping.  They had been very close, and Ned suspected Benjen knew more than he said about the matter. 

Ned laughed bitterly.  “I do anyway,” he said.

Dany quirked a half smile.  “Now I know where Jon gets it.  The solemn face, world-sitting-on-your-shoulders attitude, and the brooding.  They must be Stark qualities.  The temper, though.  That’s all Targaryen.”  Dany laughed.  It was a beautiful, musical sound, and infectious.  Ned couldn’t help but laugh too, his frustration and helplessness melting away.

“That’s better,” Dany said.  “Maybe you can tell me about your home.  Jon’s told me so much about Winterfell, but I’d like to hear more from you, if you don’t mind entertaining a bored princess.”

“I don’t mind.  What did Jon already tell you?” Ned asked.

“He said it’s very cold, even in summer, but its hot springs keep the castle warm.  He told me about the godswood and the heart tree where you sharpen your sword.  And course, he told me about his cousins Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon.  And you, and Lady Catelyn,” Dany said.

Ned was quiet for a long moment.  “I never should have left Winterfell,” Ned finally said.  “I made the same mistake my father and brother did, and with less excuse.”

“So why did you?” Dany asked.

“I received a report that the previous hand, Jon Arryn, had been murdered by the Lannisters.  He allegedly died of a sudden illness, but I suspected he had been poisoned.  He was a good man and a true friend.  I wanted to find out what really happened to him, and bring his murderers to justice,” Ned answered.

“Did you find out what happened to him?” Dany asked.  She looked sad, and Ned regretted burdening her with the tales of his troubles in King’s Landing.

“After a fashion,” Ned said, his voice filled with regret.  “I confirmed that all Cersei Lannister’s children are not Robert’s.  All three are the Kingslayer’s get.  Jon Arryn knew the truth.  That’s why they killed him.  I couldn’t let Cersei Lannister rule the kingdoms with her vicious bastard on the throne.  Robert named me Protector of the Realm in his will, and I thought that I could use that opportunity to deal with the Lannisters and restore your family to its rightful place on the throne without bloodshed.  But I failed.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dany countered.  “While it matters little which Baratheon usurper sits the throne or whether he’s bastard or trueborn, it did create chaos.  We can use that to our advantage.”  Dany paused and gave him a determined look.  “Ned, we’re going to get Sansa back.  You’ll be with your family again soon.  The rightful king will sit on the Iron Throne.  We’re going home.”

Ned looked at her with a sad smile.  “I hope you’re right, Princess.”

 

_Winterfell_

_Four months earlier_

“My Lord, a raven has arrived from King’s Landing,” Maester Luwin announced as he walked into Winterfell’s great hall.

Robb Stark took the scroll from Luwin, his brows furrowing as he read.  “Treason?  Sansa wrote this?” Robb asked incredulously.

Luwin looked grim.  “It is your sister’s hand, but the queen’s words,” Luwin said.  “You’re summoned to King’s Landing to swear fealty to the new king.”

Robb’s face twisted in anger.  “Joffrey puts my father in chains; now he wants his ass kissed?”

“This is a royal command, my lord,” Luwin replied.  “If you should refuse to obey…”

Robb cut the maester off.  “I won’t refuse,” Robb declared.  “His Grace summons me to King’s Landing; I’ll go to King’s Landing.  But not alone.”  Robb rolled up the scroll and handed it back to Luwin.  He gave the maester a hard look.  “Call the banners.”

“All of them, my lord?” Luwin asked.  The maester eyed the acting Lord of Winterfell appraisingly.  Theon Greyjoy smirked, impressed.

“They’ve all sworn to defend my father, have they not?” Robb asked icily.

“They have,” Luwin replied.

“Now we see what their words are worth,” Robb said.

Robb shook with an equal measure of anger and fear.  His father a traitor?  Robb couldn’t believe it.  First Bran’s fall and the attack by the cutthroat while he slept, and now more Lannister treachery. 

As the maester left the great hall, Theon turned to Robb and raised an eyebrow.  “The queen must be mad.  What’s to stop you from sending her daughter back to her in tiny little pieces?” Theon asked.

Robb glared at Theon, his eyes filled with venom.  “And you?  Are you mad?” Robb bit out.  “You think I’ll send Myrcella _Stark_ to anyone in little pieces?”

Theon stepped back a few paces and looked contrite, obviously afraid.  “Of course not,” Theon reassured him.  “But the queen can’t know that.  You can at least use it to your advantage; make the queen believe her daughter is in danger.”  Robb clenched his teeth in anger, about to respond or perhaps punch Theon in the face; he wasn’t sure.  At that moment, Myrcella walked into the great hall, interrupting them.

“I’m in danger?” Myrcella asked, bemused.

Robb attempted to relax his face and posture at the sudden appearance of his wife.  “Of course not, my love.”  Robb smiled at her, but the smile didn’t make it to his eyes.  “Theon, Princess Myrcella is my wife, and she’s a Stark.  Does that answer your question?”  Robb tilted his head towards the hallway, dismissing Theon.  Theon nodded respectfully at Myrcella and left hastily.

Robb blew out a breath and turned to Myrcella.  There was no delaying this unpleasant conversation now, he realized.  He would have had to tell her soon in any case, but he still hated it.  “My lady, I’ve received some terrible news from King’s Landing,” Robb said with sympathy.  “Your father has died from wounds he took in a boar hunt.  I’m so sorry, my love.”

Myrcella’s face crumpled and her green eyes filled with tears.  She let out an anguished sob, and Robb embraced her.  She cried as Robb held her for a few minutes before gasping suddenly.

“So Joffrey is king now?” she asked fearfully.

Robb wanted to comfort her but couldn’t think of a way to soften the terrible impact of Sansa’s missive.  “Yes,” he said.

“No, no,” Myrcella muttered thickly.  “He can’t… he’s… no.”  She sobbed again and gripped Robb’s arms.

“I’m so sorry,” Robb repeated.

Myrcella let go of him and suddenly looked frantic.  “Robb, you need to write to Lord Stark.  Tell him to come home and bring Sansa and Arya.  They’re not safe in King’s Landing, not with Joffrey as king.  He’s vicious and cruel,” Myrcella said in a rush.  “I should have warned them, I should have…”  Myrcella trailed off, her face twisted in misery.

_It’s too late_ , Robb thought miserably.  Not that a warning would have made much difference to his father; no one could have anticipated this turn of events, he thought.

“You couldn’t have known what would happen, Cella,” Robb said.  “And I… I can’t… it’s too late.”

Myrcella took in a shaky breath.  “Too late?” she asked quietly.

“My father has been charged with treason.  They say he tried to steal the throne, as ridiculous as that sounds.  The queen asked Sansa to write to me, instructing me to go to King’s Landing to swear fealty to Joffrey,” Robb said flatly.

Myrcella gasped.  “You can’t!” she said frantically.  “It’s a trap!  He’ll arrest you too.  Don’t go.”

Robb sighed.  “I’ve called the banners, Myrcella.  I won’t just leave him there,” he said. 

Myrcella dried her eyes with the sleeve of her gown, stood up straight, and lifted her head to him.  Her grief put on hold, she looked determined.  “What can I do to help, Robb?  I want to help.”

Robb furrowed his brow.  “I don’t know yet.  But this letter, this means…”

Myrcella eyed her husband with her mouth set in a tight line.  “I know, Robb.  I know what it means.  I want to help.  Just tell me how, and I will,” she said resolutely.

“Our houses may soon be at war, Myrcella!” Robb said, agitated.  “You’d basically be a hostage here, whether I willed it or not!”

“Our house,” Myrcella declared, implacable.  “I’m a Stark, Robb.  I heard you say it yourself.”

Robb was grieved.  Myrcella was right, of course.  But how could he make her understand?  “You are.  But you’re not a pawn to me, Myrcella,” Robb said.  “If you wish to return to your family, I’ll see that it happens.  I’ll make no demands in exchange.  I only want you to be safe and happy.”

“I’m safe here with you,” Myrcella replied.  “I’ll be happy when your father and sisters are back home.  You’re my family now.  You, and this little one.”  She pulled Robb’s hand and placed it on her stomach.  “Get them back, Robb.  Starks belong in Winterfell.”

Robb gasped.  “You’re certain?”  Myrcella nodded and smiled serenely.

Robb pulled Myrcella to him and his lips crashed against hers.  His hand went immediately to her hair and he carded his fingers through her golden curls, pulling on her hair gently.  She opened her mouth to gasp, and he invaded her mouth, caressing her tongue with his.

Robb broke their kiss to trail his lips down the smooth, creamy skin along his wife’s neck.  Myrcella tilted her head towards his and rasped, “Robb.  I need you.”

Robb could only moan in reply as Myrcella stared to blindly grasp at the buckles of his leathers.  Her words had pushed any concern he might have had for where they were and who might see them melt away.  She captured his lips again, kissing him fiercely.  She finally managed to undo the buckles and the leather garment hit the floor.

Robb’s mind went blank and all he could think of was the sweet taste of Myrcella’s mouth and the feel of her smooth skin under his lips and his hands.  He began to pull up her skirts, running his calloused fingers along her thighs.  When his fingers reached her damp smallclothes, Myrcella began to pant softly.  _Seven hells_ , he thought.

“Robb.  We’re in the great hall.  Anyone could walk in and see us,” she gasped.

“Let them see,” Robb growled.  “I don’t care.  Let them all see that you’re a Stark of Winterfell; this is your home, and you’re my wife.”  He pushed her smallclothes down her legs and nipped at her earlobe.  “I’ll fuck you right on this table for every northern lord to see if that’s what it takes for them to understand.”  He knew that Theon’s thoughts would likely be shared by House Stark’s bannermen.  The idea of it made him hot with rage.

Myrcella grabbed the laces of Robb’s breeches and pushed them to the floor.  He picked her up and balanced her on the edge of the table, sucking a bruise into her throat.  _They’ll all know that she’s mine, not some hostage, and not a damned Lannister_ , Robb thought.  _Mine_.

He unlaced Myrcella’s dress enough to access her creamy white breasts and the small pink nipples hardened under his touch.  He wrapped his lips around one nipple, sucking and nibbling at it while squeezing the other breast.  He then returned his lips to her ear.

“You’re mine, Myrcella Stark.  There’s no war, army, or King of the Seven Kingdoms who can take you from me,” he rasped huskily.  “And I’m yours.”

“I’m yours, Robb,” she agreed, gasping.

Myrcella moaned as Robb’s fingers dove into her wet heat.  Robb hissed.  “You’re ready for me, aren’t you, Lady Stark?” he groaned.

“Always,” she moaned.  “Robb, I need you.  Now, please.”

Robb plunged into her, burying himself inside her in a single stroke.  She moaned loudly, and he gripped her hips with such force it could only leave bruises on her delicate skin.

He thought suddenly and for the first time that Myrcella wasn’t so delicate, though.  Gone was the shy girl he’d cloaked with the direwolf of Stark in Winterfell’s godswood months ago during the king’s visit.  _This is no lion cub, not anymore_ , Robb thought.  Myrcella Stark was a wolf now, and she craved Robb’s touch like a wolf.

Robb pounded into her, and Myrcella’s head lolled back and her eyes closed, overcome by sensation.  _That won’t do_ , he thought.  He could tell she was close, and so was he.

“Look at me,” he said.  Myrcella’s eyes fluttered open and locked on Robb’s, green to blue.  He slid his hand between them and pressed thumb against her swollen nub.

“Robb,” she wailed, helpless, and exploded around him.  Her convulsing heat set him off, and he released into her with a load groan.

Robb crushed his wife against his chest, gasping and unable to speak.  Myrcella Stark grabbed her husband’s face and said adamantly, “I’m yours.  I’m with you, now and always, no matter what.”


	6. Chapter 6

King’s Landing

Jon followed Arthur through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, trusting the Kingsguard knight to lead them to their destination.  Arthur hadn’t been in the Red Keep in over seventeen years, but he remained intimately familiar with the layout of the castle and Jon let him lead the way.  Fortunately, they found few guards in their path.  Arthur had dispatched them quickly without giving them any opportunity to make any noise that might draw attention to the interlopers’ presence in the castle, not needing any help from Jon.  Jon was starting to feel a little useless on this mission, truth be told.  He supposed now that Sansa had been given to a Lannister, fewer guards were needed to keep her a captive.  Jon gritted his teeth at the idea of his betrothed with the yellow-haired dwarf.  He tightened his grip around Blackfyre’s pommel. 

Jon Connington had given Jon the legendary sword of Aegon the Conqueror upon swearing him the allegiance of the Golden Company a year and half past.  Magister Illyrio had been the one to suggest a possible alliance with the Golden Company.  Jon had been skeptical.  “Why would the Golden Company fight for House Targaryen when its mission since its founding has been to replace the Targaryens with a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne?” Jon had questioned Illyrio.  Illyrio had argued that the male line of House Blackfyre was gone and that the company would support him for his dragon’s blood.  “Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon.  You can give the exiles what Bittersteel and the Blackfyres never could.  You can take them home,” Illyrio had said.  The magister has been correct, and now the Golden Company and Blackfyre were his.  Jon’s offer of Storm’s End to Connington had sweetened the pot.

As much as Jon felt overwhelmed by his role as King of the Seven Kingdoms, he felt similarly unworthy about wielding the Conqueror’s sword.  While he was more than capable as a swordsman, having been trained by both Winterfell’s master-at-arms and the Sword of the Morning, it was quite a different thing to wield House Targaryen’s ancestral Valyrian steel sword.  Jon certainly did not feel like Aegon the Conqueror and was quick to ask to be called Jon whenever someone attempted to call him Aegon.  He didn’t look anything like the Conqueror, or any silver-haired, violet-eyed dragonlord for that matter.  His long face, dark gray eyes, and unruly mop of black hair marked him unmistakably as a Stark.

Jon didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on his insecurities right now.  Blackfyre was his sword now, and he intended to coat it with as much Lannister blood as he needed to in order to save his queen.  Not that he had had to so far.  He supposed that it was a good thing – things were going according to plan.

_His queen_ , Jon thought uncomfortably.  Sansa had no idea of their betrothal and he supposed it would now be up to him to break the news to her.  Jon wasn’t sure how she would react, and he wasn’t all that keen to find out.  Jon had told Ned when his uncle had suggested the match to him that he was agreeable if Sansa also agreed.  He certainly wasn’t about to do as the Lannisters had and force her into an unwanted marriage.  He and Sansa had never been particularly close, but as far as she knew, Jon was her bastard half-brother.  Sansa’s interests as he remembered were ladylike pursuits like needlepoint and sewing.  They didn’t have much in common.  Why would she want him?

Jon shook his head, trying to rid himself of these useless and unwelcome thoughts.  _It doesn’t matter_ , Jon thought.  _If I don’t feel worthy, it doesn’t matter_.  He wasn’t the Bastard of Winterfell anymore.  He had to keep his focus on the task at hand.  It was up to him to save Sansa.  It was up to him to save Westeros from Lannister tyranny.  He choked down the nagging thoughts – unworthy of his kingdom, unworthy of his blade, unworthy of his queen.  He scanned the corridor, looking for any sign of movement, and continued to follow Arthur through the darkened halls of the castle.

Arthur held up his hand and Jon stopped behind him, standing with his back against the wall.  He heard the sound of drunken snoring behind the wooden door where they had stopped.  Jon looked around once more.  No guards.  _Good_ , he thought.  Arthur looked to him, and Jon nodded.  Arthur tried the door, and in another stroke of luck, found it unlocked.  They had prepared for the possibility of a locked door, but this made things much easier and less risky.

Jon entered the room first.  He and Arthur had hoped that if Sansa saw Jon first, it would be less likely that she would scream at a familiar face.  Of course, it was possible that she’d scream anyway.  Jon fervently hoped that she wouldn’t.  He was worried that they had arrived too late.  The idea of the Lannister dwarf touching his cousin made him sick – the drunken lecher would die if he had laid a hand on Sansa, Jon resolved.  To the seven hells with whatever use Arthur thought the Imp may have as a hostage.

Arthur found the Imp snoring on a settee and went to work binding and gagging him.  Jon approached Sansa, who was in the bed sleeping.  Her red hair fanned out on the white pillow like a fiery cloud; her porcelain face was untroubled in sleep.  _So much more beautiful than I remembered_ , Jon thought.  He gently touched her shoulder to wake her.

“Sansa, wake up,” Jon whispered.  “I’m getting you out of here.”

Sansa’s eyes fluttered open and focused on him.  Jon prayed to all the seven gods, the old gods, the red god, to every god in every heaven, that she wouldn’t scream.  The dead guards would be found soon, and they couldn’t afford to make any noise.  His prayers were answered when she whispered, “Jon?”

“We need to leave, now,” Jon said.  Sansa nodded and got out of bed.  She quickly put on her dress and pulled on a pair of boots.  Arthur had finished tying up the Imp, who had woken up and was attempting to say something through the gag around his mouth.  Arthur shushed him with a blow to the head.

Jon, Arthur, and Sansa quickly and stealthily made their way through the Red Keep along the route that Arthur had planned.  Arthur carried the Lannister Imp over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  Even if the Lannister had been willing and able to run, he was obviously drunk.  The sour smell of wine and sick invaded Jon’s nostrils, and he felt sorry for Arthur who must have had it even worse with the disgusting smell.

It seemed unlikely that the Imp could have dishonored Sansa in such a state, but Jon had stolen a glace at Sansa’s bed sheets anyway.  He felt ashamed at having invaded Sansa’s privacy in such a way, but he couldn’t help it.  He had been relieved to see no evidence of any coupling.  Thank the gods, he thought.  The dwarf would perhaps live to see another day.  Without consummation, the marriage was invalid.

_So much depends on Sansa_ , Jon thought.  He hoped that he could somehow convince her to join his cause.  Ned and Varys had been convinced of the match’s importance to their plans.  Jon had thought it best for Ned to talk to Sansa about the betrothal, but Ned was in Pentos now and their plans were already set into motion.  Now Jon would have to be the one to talk to her and he had no idea what he was going to say.  He didn’t want some unwilling, unwitting bride selected by advisors who was forced by the circumstances of her birth to spread her legs and bear him heirs.  He found the whole idea of arranged marriage rather distasteful in fact.  If she didn’t want to do it, they’d find another way.

Jon knew that Sansa had always idealized life from the songs.  She probably had hoped to marry some handsome southern lordling.  He didn’t see himself as a hero from a song at all, and he certainly was no southerner.  Maybe Sansa was more grown up now.  _Is there a song about a dragon saving a princess from a drunk lion?_ Jon wondered idly.  Ridiculous.  Jon pushed aside these thoughts and focused on racing through the Red Keep.

When they came upon a Lannister guard patrolling a corridor, Jon raced past Arthur who had his hands full with the dwarf.  He raised Blackfyre and thrust it through the red-cloaked guard’s throat before the man had a chance to react.  Jon had expected a yelp or at least a whimper from Sansa at the sight of blood being spilled, but she didn’t make a sound.  When he looked back at her, she appeared untroubled.  Jon himself might have been troubled; he had never killed before.  But he didn’t have time to think about it.  _Later, if we make it out of here_ , he thought.  He stole a glance at the dead guard before moving on.

Jon clutched Sansa’s small, delicate hand as they made their way through corridors, down stairs, and finally through tunnels out of the keep.  They finally arrived at the riverbank where their rowboat awaited them.  As they rowed away, Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but Jon held a finger to his lips to quiet her.  They needed to keep silent until they were on the ship and well away from King’s Landing.

When the rowboat reached the ship, Jon pulled Sansa up the ladder and embraced her.  Finally far away enough to speak, Jon breathed a sigh of relief.  “Are you alright?” he asked Sansa.  “Yes, Jon – how are you here?  Where’s Father?  Arya?” Sansa asked, obviously confused at the events of that night.  Jon didn’t want to make matters worse by explaining everything right then, so he answered her simply.

“Father is safe in Pentos.  We don’t know where Arya is yet; we think she may have escaped,” Jon said.  “How?” Sansa asked. 

“We don’t know yet,” Jon replied.  “You’re safe now, Sansa.”  Jon wrapped his arms around her again and pressed a kiss to her brow.  “I’ll keep you safe.” 

 

_13 years earlier_

_Winterfell_

Catelyn Stark uneasily made her way through the crypts below Winterfell.  She had rarely come down here, and it was the first time she had done so alone.  Maester Luwin had told her that Ned had asked for her to meet him down here; for what purpose, the gods only knew.  Catelyn’s torchlight didn’t seem bright enough to chase away the ghosts of the Kings of Winter.  The ghosts who chastised her for her presence – she may be a Stark by marriage, she thought, but her Tully blood chilled in this most Stark of places.

She found Ned standing in front of a statue of a young woman – the only such statue in these crypts, she knew.  Lyanna Stark.  Catelyn knew Lyanna’s sad story.  Kidnapped.  Raped.  Dead so young.  A victim of the cruel tyranny of Targaryen madness in the form of Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon.

Catelyn stopped at Ned’s side.  He didn’t tear his eyes away from the statue or acknowledge her presence.  He merely began to speak as if to himself, softly, as if not to offend the dead.

“High lords often speak of the duty to marry.  Marry for your house, build alliances, sire heirs to carry your name or your husband’s name,” Ned said.  “But they don’t talk about a duty to love, do they?  Because there isn’t any such thing.”

Ned paused, still gazing at the statue, his expression unreadable.  Catelyn remained silent and motionless, waiting for Ned to continue.

“No,” Ned said quietly.  “There’s no such duty, because it’s impossible.  I know this now.  I know now, because I know what it means to love.  I love you, Cat.  No one made me love you, and they wouldn’t have been able to force me to.  We can’t help who we love.”

Catelyn had never heard her stoic husband speak so openly about his love, and while he was often solemn, he seemed changed now.  He was just the same, only more so.  She could feel her heart thundering in her chest.

“I didn’t love you at first,” Ned admitted.  “But I do now, and it’s not what I chose.  I just fell helplessly into it.  This feeling.  It’s unshakeable now.  It’s indelible.  It’s so much more than I could have hoped for.”

Catelyn’s eyes were transfixed on her husband, his gaze still implacably fixed on Lyanna Stark’s statue.  She recalled her wedding to Ned at Riverrun and recognized the truth of his words.  They were strangers then.  They weren’t anymore.  But this Eddard Stark next to her was suddenly mysterious to her.  His eyes and his bearing were weighed down with some inexplicable emotion.

“I don’t blame her anymore, because now I understand,” Ned said, as if in a trance.  “Lyanna was so brave, so wild, and so sure of herself.  She wasn’t like me.  When Lyanna found her love, she knew right away.  She didn’t have a care for her house or her duty.  She only thought to chase this irresistible, unbreakable, indelible love.”

“I understand it now, I do.  I understood it the night we made our daughter, the first child we made with love.  I understood when Sansa was born.  I understood with each ring of the bells the day of her birth.”

Ned finally looked at Catelyn, and she felt stripped under his gray gaze.  It was if the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding had been knocked out her.

“Tell me you love me,” Ned said, his voice a naked plea.

“I love you, Ned.  You know I do,” Catelyn replied.  Her voice trembled a bit; she sounded much younger than she actually was.  She felt afraid then, like something precious was about to be taken from her.  She didn’t know what it was, but she already felt it slipping away.

Ned closed his eyes, acknowledging her response as if it had been a balm to soothe his troubled soul.  He turned back to stare at the statue once more.

“Catelyn,” he breathed.  “I lied to you.  I’m sorry.  I only hope that you can forgive me.  What I did, it was out of love.  For Lyanna.  And if you can forgive me, I need to ask for your help.  You’re the only one I know I can trust.”

Catelyn’s mind spun.  She didn’t know what to think or how to feel.  She could only think of what she wanted to say. 

_I am his, and he is mine.  From this day, until the end of my days._

“I’m your wife, Ned Stark.  I love you, and if I can help you, you know I will,” Catelyn said firmly.

Ned blew out a breath and closed his eyes tightly.  He paused a moment, and Catelyn wondered if he would continue, or if he would stay like this forever, like the statue he seemed to be attempting to draw strength from.

“I never dishonored you, Cat, but I did something worse.  I put out family in danger,” Ned said, his voice low.  “Jon Snow isn’t my son, and his true name isn’t Jon Snow.  He isn’t a bastard and never was.  His name is Aegon Targaryen, and the last thing my sister Lyanna ever heard in this life was my vow to protect him, her son by her husband Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Ned opened his eyes and there was steel in his voice now.  “I’ve kept my vow, and I’ll continue to keep it.  Lyanna’s boy is the rightful king, and I’ve sworn to protect him.  To raise him with honor and put him on his rightful throne.”

Catelyn Stark was a strong woman, a Tully of Riverrun and a Stark of Winterfell.  Accordingly, she didn’t faint; she didn’t even gasp.  She grasped Ned’s shaking hand with her calm and determined one.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Ned,” she said.  “I know what Robert is, and I know why you did what you did.”  That was true.  Catelyn knew what cruel acts had secured Robert’s claim to the throne.  She knew the fate of Princess Elia and her children and despised the man who had smiled at it and excused the brutality of the perpetrators. 

Catelyn was suddenly flooded by memories of every hateful glare she’d directed at Jon Snow – _Aegon Targaryen_ , she thought with equal parts incredulity and horror – and felt the heavy weight of guilt.  _He’s just a little boy_ , she thought.  _A motherless child I couldn’t bring myself to love.  I couldn’t keep my promise… why?_

Catelyn steeled herself to continue.  “You asked for my help.  You have it.  Tell me what you need,” Catelyn said.

Ned looked at her then.  “Sansa,” he said quietly.  “A queen for a king.”  Her eyes locked on Ned’s, dark now in the low light, blue meeting steel.

“Yes,” she said.


	7. Chapter 7

Pentos

Magister Illyrio’s grand hall was filled with guests.  Many of his associates and friends were in attendance at the feast which was now being held to celebrate Jon and Arthur’s successful rescue of Sansa Stark and the imminent return of House Targaryen to Westeros.  Daenerys felt that those things were indeed worth celebrating, but she realized that most of the guests were actually there to curry favor with the soon to be King of the Seven Kingdoms in spite of his not being present.  A perfumed man in silk robes greeted Dany and kissed her hand.

“Tales of your beauty were woefully inadequate to describe you, princess,” the man said.

“You are too kind,” Dany replied.

“It’s a shame your nephew could not be here,” the man said.

Dany murmured her agreement and excused herself.  She found herself wishing that Jon were present so that she wouldn’t have to exchange pleasantries with all these sycophants. 

_Is this what it will be like when my family returns to its rightful place in Westeros?  How dull._

“Princess!” Illyrio called.  Viserys was next to him.  They were both standing at the front of the hall.  Two servants carried a large crate to Illyrio.  “In honor of your family’s triumphant return to Westeros, I present you a gift.”

The servants opened the crate and Dany peered inside.  Her breath caught in her throat; she couldn’t believe what she saw.  Inside the crate sat three oblong stones – one black veined with red streaks, one cream with flecks of gold, and one green mixed with bronze.

“Dragon’s eggs from the shadowlands beyond Asshai, princess,” Illyrio said.  “The eons have turned them to stone, but they will always be beautiful.”

Dany looked at the eggs, transfixed.  “Thank you, magister.  They’re beautiful.”  Viserys gaped at the eggs and reached for the green and bronze egg.  “They’re incredible,” he said, holding the egg up the light.  Dany reached into the crate and removed the black and red egg.  She held it up, examining it.

Ned approached and looked at the eggs, then to Illyrio.  “Where did you get these?”

Illyrio smiled indulgently and shrugged.  “One of my associates was able to procure them for me.  I thought it was only right that the last Targaryens have them.”

Ned looked skeptical.  “Dragon’s eggs are very expensive and difficult to acquire at any price,” he said.  Dany wondered what he was thinking.  She placed the black egg back in the crate and picked up the cream egg.  She ran her fingers over the scales and handed the egg to Ned.

“Feel, Ned,” Dany said, looking up at him.  “Does it feel warm to you?”  Ned stared at the egg and swallowed.  “Yes, princess.  It does, a bit.”  He looked bemused and handed the egg back to Dany almost reluctantly.

_Is he frightened by these egg_ s? Dany wondered.  They’re just stone now; they couldn’t pose any threat to anyone.  Just a rather elaborate gift from a friend who appreciates the finer things in life and has the coin to enjoy them.  But Dany couldn’t help but recall a strange dream that she had dreamt just days earlier.  A huge winged shadow plunging the city below in darkness.  The warm feel of flames licking at her skin, leaving her unburnt.  The sound of cracking around her.  Fire and blood.  Dany shivered; her dreams had a habit of coming true, just as Daenys the dreamer before her.  She wasn’t sure what the dream meant, but something about the look on Ned’s face made her think that these dragon’s eggs were a part of the dream she had.  _Or was it a vision?_ Dany mused to herself.

A dark-haired man Dany didn’t recognize approached carrying a long package wrapped in fabric.  “My prince, my princess, Lord Stark,” the stranger greeted.  He looked at the eggs, his eyes widening.  “A lovely gift,” he said.  Ned turned towards him.

“Prince Oberyn,” Ned said.  “I had not thought to find you in Pentos.” 

Oberyn laughed.  “It’s good to see you again too, Lord Stark,” he said.  “Especially with your head still attached.  What were you thinking?”

Ned scowled.  “I wasn’t,” he mumbled.  Dany cleared her throat and Ned turned to her.  “My apologies, princess.  May I present Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne; Prince Oberyn, this is Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys of House Targaryen.”

Oberyn passed the package to a servant and bowed deeply.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”  He kissed the back of Dany’s extended hand.  “Thank you for your invitation, my prince.”

Viserys smiled.  “You are very welcome here, Prince Oberyn.  I was happy to hear of House Martell’s agreement to join us.”

Oberyn nodded towards Ned.  “Lord Stark was quite convincing.  It seems we have a common interest in bringing my sister’s and her children’s murderers to justice.”

Viserys gritted his teeth.  “We do indeed.”  He took a breath and looked around expectantly.  “Is my betrothed with you?  I was hoping to meet her.”

Dany felt a little conflicted about Viserys’ betrothal.  Her brother had always told her that he and Dany would marry when she came of age.  She didn’t love Viserys as a wife loves a husband, but he was her brother and she did truly love him.  She knew Viserys would never harm her and it certainly would have been better than being married off to a stranger.  When Lord Stark had approached Doran Martell about an alliance, the Dornish prince had wanted to secure the alliance formally by marriage.  He would have preferred Jon to wed his daughter, the Princess Arianne, but Jon was already spoken for.  Viserys had suggested a match between himself and Arianne.  The princess had preferred that, as it preserved her place in the succession to rule at Sunspear. 

Dany thought that this match made it all but certain that she too would be offered as a bride to a potential ally.  Jon had assured her that she wouldn’t be forced to marry.  _“I’m not selling my aunt to buy a chair of swords for myself,”_ he’d said. _“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.  If you don’t want to marry, you won’t have to.  You can be the most beautiful old maid in all of Westeros.”_   Dany appreciated the sentiment but knew that it wouldn’t stop him from asking nicely later if the need arose.  Jon might be the king, but he was still naïve in many ways, Dany thought.  Highborn girls always wound up getting sold, one way or another.

Oberyn shook his head.  “Arianne stayed behind in Sunspear to care for her father.  He’s been ill.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Viserys said.

“I’m curious about your package, Prince Oberyn,” Dany said.  “I hope you don’t think I’m being rude to inquire.”

“Of course not, my princess,” Oberyn replied.  “I brought this for Lord Stark, actually.”  He nodded at the servant, who handed the package to Ned.  “A gesture of House Martell’s friendship with House Stark.”  He laughed.  “Also, I didn’t want the Lannisters to have it.”  
Ned’s eyes went wide as he unwrapped the cloth covering.  Light reflected off the surface of the dark Valyrian steel.  “Ice,” he murmured.  He looked at Oberyn.  “How did you get this?”

Oberyn shrugged.  “I have my ways,” he replied. 

Ned swallowed.  “House Stark will not forget this act of friendship, my prince.”

Dany looked at the sword.  She didn’t think that she’d ever seen one quite so large.  The Lannisters could have made two swords out of that, she thought absently.

Ned looked overwhelmed.  “Please excuse me, my princes, my princess.”  He started to walk away.

Viserys turned to Dany.  “May I have a dance with my sweet sister?” he asked.  Dany smiled and rose.  “Of course, brother,” she replied.

Viserys led her to the dance floor.  “I hope you’re not upset about the betrothal, Dany,” Viserys said, leading her in the dance.  Other couples dancing around them laughed gaily.

“No Viserys,” Dany replied.  “I see why it’s necessary.  And you’ll always be my big brother.”  She smiled.

“Always,” he said, grinning.  “We’ll find you a husband, sister.  Maybe not one as handsome as me, but is that even possible?”

Dany laughed.  “Never,” she said.  “Maybe I’ll be an old maid.”

Viserys groaned.  “What a terrible waste!  It won’t be easy to find a match worthy of you, sister, but I will try.  And like our nephew promised, no one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”  He grimaced.  “You know Illyrio wanted to wed you off to a Dothraki horselord?  I thought Jon was going to run him through!”

Dany laughed again.  “I don’t think I would make a good khaleesi.”

“No,” Viserys replied.  “You are a Westerosi princess and everything you desire will be yours, sister.  I promise.”

Dany rested her head on her brother’s shoulder.  “Thank you, brother.”  The dance ended, and Viserys released her.  He moved to leave the dance floor and Dany looked around.  Maybe she could coax Ned into dancing with her.  The man was far too grim, she thought.  She was feeling euphoric after the gift of dragon’s eggs and the good Dornish wine from the feast.  She felt like she could dance all night.

Dany heard a scream.  She whipped her head around and saw a bloom of red spread on Viserys’ chest.  Time seemed to slow down, then she heard a voice that sounded like a commander on a battlefield yell “Dany, get down!”  She saw a flash of dark Valyrian steel at the same moment that she felt the breath knocked out of her.  She felt her knees buckle as she crumpled to the floor, her vision swimming.  _Viserys.  Ñuha lēkia,_ she thought desperately.  She heard the sound of steel cutting flesh.  Then everything went black.

 

_One week earlier_

_The Narrow Sea_

Sansa walked up the deck of the ship towards Jon who was standing at the ship’s railing, staring out at the sun rising over the water.  _Broody as ever,_ she thought. _Some things don’t change._ The thought was strangely comforting; she was reminded of happier days growing up at Winterfell.

“Lovely sunrise,” Sansa said.

“I hope you weren’t seasick,” Jon replied.

“No, I’m well,” Sansa said.  “Now I am.”

Jon smiled and turned towards her.  “I had hoped we could talk,” she said.

“Yes,” Jon replied.  “I thought it would be good for you to get some rest first.  I don’t mean to keep anything from you.”

Sansa regarded her half-brother for a moment.  He seemed so much older than she remembered.  It had been four years, she supposed; she was older too.  He might be broody still, but the sullen boy who seemed to melt into Winterfell’s gray walls was gone.  He was of a height with her, but he didn’t seem hesitant to take up space as once had.  He stood up straight and seemed taller.  The change was subtle, but she noticed.

“You said father is safe in Pentos,” Sansa said.  “Is that where we’re headed?”

“No,” Jon replied.  “We’re going to Maidenpool to join with my men in the Riverlands.  Then we’re going to meet Robb.  I’m sending word to your father in Pentos to come back to Westeros when his leg is healed.  That should be soon, if not already.”  Jon looked at her sadly.  “He wanted very much to come with me to rescue you, Sansa.  He was still too injured from a fight with the Kingslayer, so I told him to stay behind.  I didn’t want him to come into the Lannister’s clutches again.”

Even from this seemingly small amount of information, Sansa had at least a dozen questions.  She decided to tackle them in order.

“Your men?  Which men?  How many?  And how do you have them?” Sansa asked.  The last she had heard, Jon had been sent to foster at Starfall.  How he could have raised an army, she couldn’t even guess.

“The Golden Company has been instructed to meet me in the Riverlands on our way to Robb,” Jon replied.  They’re an Essosi sellsword company of 20,000 men, although they aren’t selling their swords to me exactly.  Many of them are exiles who want to return home to Westeros, which I offered to help them with in exchange for their loyalty.”

Jon had told her that he didn’t mean to keep anything from her, and while he was answering her questions, each answer left her more confused.  It must have shown on her face, because Jon looked at her apologetically.  “Why would they seek your help, Jon?” she asked. 

Jon sighed and looked out at the water again.  “Have you ever heard the story of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark?” he asked.

Sansa furrowed her brow in bewilderment.  “Of course,” she said.  “Rhaegar kidnapped her and raped her.  Then she died.  But I don’t see what that has to do with the Golden Company.”

“It has everything to do with it,” Jon said softly.  “That’s the story most in the north are familiar with.  Some in the south as well.  Some claim that Lyanna was a temptress and bewitched Rhaegar away from his loving family.  There are probably a hundred versions of the tale.  Almost no one knows the truth.”

“And what’s the truth?” Sansa asked.

Jon laughed mirthlessly.  “What’s the truth?  The truth is that love is the bane of honor, the death of duty.”  He spoke as if quoting someone.  “What is honor compared to a woman’s love?  What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms, or the memory of a brother’s smile?  Wind and words.  We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love.  That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”

Jon sighed again.  “A wise man once told me that, when I asked him the same question.”  He looked so sad, but Sansa could not understand why.  “The truth is, it’s the most boring story ever told, and the most common.  A man meets a woman.  They fall in love and run away together.  They marry in secret, and the woman gets with child.  In Rhaegar and Lyanna’s case, of course, the story ended in tragedy.  Rhaegar died in battle, and Lyanna in the birthing bed.”  He spoke dispassionately, but Sansa could see the pain in his eyes and the tightness of his jaw.

“What became of the babe?” Sansa asked in a whisper.

“Lyanna named him Aegon,” Jon answered.  “After his dead brother and who knows how many of his ancestors.  His brother and his sister, Aegon and Rhaenys, had been murdered.  His father, the crown prince, was dead.  His mother was dead.  His step-mother, Elia Martell, was dead.  His grandfathers, King Aerys and Rickard Stark, were dead.  So, his uncle, one of his last living kin, did the only thing that could be done to save little Aegon’s life.  He hid him in plain sight.  Robert had taken the throne, and Aegon would have been a threat.”

Jon’s sad look had transformed into one of fury as he continued.  “You see, Rhaegar, Aerys, and Elia’s son Aegon were all dead.  Lyanna’s boy was the rightful king the moment he was born.  Was then, and is now.  But an infant can’t rebel against Robert Baratheon.  So Aegon’s uncle had to protect him.  The babe didn’t have the classic Targaryen features.  He favored his mother and looked like a Stark.  Black hair, gray eyes.”  Jon’s stormy gray eyes held Sansa’s blue ones as the wind off the water whipped his black curls.

Jon continued.  “Aegon’s uncle promised Lyanna he would protect her son, and he did.  He claimed him as his own son, took him to the safest place he knew of for a Stark, and gave Aegon a new name.”

“Jon Snow,” Sansa whispered.

“Aye,” Jon said quietly.  “I’m sorry Sansa.  I wish it could be your father telling you this.  I’m sure he had meant to.  But he’s not here, and you need to know.  I’m not your brother.  I never was.  But you are my family, and that’s why I came for you.  That’s the real reason.  I would have come no matter what.  But there is something more, and I need to ask for your help.”

Sansa went over the story she had just heard in her mind, and she quickly realized that it made so much more sense than what she had always been told and believed.  She thought about her father and was suddenly perplexed as to how anyone had ever believed he had dishonored her mother or fathered a bastard.  Of course, she had also never thought her father would lie about anything, either.  Clearly, he had.  She considered her brother – cousin – a moment.  As incredible as the story was, she could feel that it was the truth.  She strangely felt as if she had always known.

“I’d like to help you Jon, if I can,” Sansa said.

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and seemed reluctant to continue.  “Your father never intended for the murders of Elia Martell and Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen to go unanswered,” he said.  “Once he learned the truth about Robert Baratheon, he had no intention of allowing a child murderer to keep the throne.  He’s been quietly working to restore House Targaryen to its rightful place on the Iron Throne.”

“Your place,” Sansa said.  “You’re the king.”

“Aye,” Jon replied.  “But to get there, I need allies.  To secure the most important allies, your father intends to reassure the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale of House Targaryen’s alliance with House Stark.”

Understanding, Sansa’s eyes widened.  “You mean a formal alliance.  Through marriage.”

Jon nodded.  “I had thought it would be your father and mother who would be the ones to discuss this with you, but with this business with Tyrion Lannister and your father’s arrest have complicated matters.”

Jon blew out a breath and his fingers tightened around the deck railing.  “No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.  Certainly not me.  But if you’d have me, I want you to be my queen, Sansa.  I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”  He looked at her intently, his voice gentle.  “Maybe I’m not what you hoped for, but I want justice for my murdered family and to take back what’s been stolen from us.  I can’t do it without your help.”

As the eldest daughter of a high lord, Sansa had never expected she’d have much choice over who she would marry.  She hadn’t thought that she would be forced into the sept at sword point as the Lannisters had done to her, but she grew up thinking that her parents would select some lord for her to marry, and she would do her duty to her family.  It felt good to have a choice.  She had made no secret as a girl of her dreams of wedding a handsome and golden southern prince like from the songs.  She had even been jealous of Robb’s betrothal to Myrcella Baratheon and had wished that she had been chosen to marry Joffrey instead. 

_Thank the gods that didn’t happen_ , Sansa thought.  _Life is not a song._ It hadn’t even taken the whole journey to King’s Landing for her to be stripped of that childish illusion.

_Maybe I’m not what you hoped for,_ Jon had said.  That may have true for Sansa once, but she had grown up quickly since leaving Winterfell.  He was she had hoped for every day since her father’s arrest – someone to pluck her from the lions’ jaws and spirit her away.  She considered briefly whether it would be strange to wed a man who until a few moments ago she thought was her brother.  She dismissed the thought.  _He’s not my brother_ , she thought.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said.  “I know it’s not the most romantic proposal.”  He laughed, a bit nervously.  “If you need time to think it over or if you want to speak with your mother and father, I understand.  And if you don’t want to…”

“I don’t need time to think it over, Jon,” Sansa interrupted.  “My answer is yes.  If this is what father wants, I trust you.  I want to help you.”

“Sansa,” Jon breathed, relieved.  He closed his eyes a moment.

Sansa looked at him intently and continued.  “You’re the one who came for me, Jon.  I thought it would be father or Robb that would come, but they never did.  When they forced me to marry the imp, I thought it was over.  I thought my family would never want me back.  That I’d die Sansa Lannister.  But you came for me.  You’re the one who saved me.  My king came for me.”  Sansa reached out and grasped Jon’s hand.

The moment seemed to stretch, with Jon holding Sansa’s hand, his dark eyes staring into hers.  After an indeterminate amount of time, Jon’s gaze dropped, and Sansa could feel her heartbeat quicken.

“I want to kiss you now, Sansa.  Is that alright?” Jon said quietly.

“Yes,” Sansa breathed.

Jon’s lips met hers as she felt him wrap his arms around her.  She hadn’t realized how cold she had been until she felt his warmth pressed against her.  For the first time since leaving home, she felt truly safe.  Sansa carded her fingers through Jon’s raven curls and held his head closer to hers.  When she parted her lips, he deepened the kiss.  Sansa closed her eyes as her body hummed with pleasure.  She was surprised at how natural it felt to have Jon’s lips on hers and how soft his hair felt between her fingers.  She didn’t want to ever let him go or for this perfect moment to end.  Eventually Jon released her, though, and Sansa gazed at him, breathless.

Sansa attempted to gather her scattered wits, which wasn’t easy with her lips tingling and the memory of Jon’s hands on her body.  She saw that his lips were redder and looked almost swollen.  _I did that_ , she thought with wonder.  Sansa took a breath and composed herself.  “So, allies,” she said.  “We’ll have the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale.  The Stormlands and the Westerlands are out.  What about the Reach and Dorne?  Maybe the Iron Islands?  Robb is friends with Theon Greyjoy; maybe he can help us there.”

Jon blinked and took a deep breath.  “Your father doesn’t trust the Iron Islanders.  As for the Reach, the last I heard was that the Tyrell girl had married Renly Baratheon.  Not ideal, but better than their being allied with Joffrey.  Stannis has thrown his hat in as well.  If the usurpers wear themselves out fighting each other as I expect, it’s less trouble for us down the road.”  Jon gritted his teeth before continuing.  “Although the Lannisters are in the Riverlands fighting Robb.  That’s why I want to go there first.”  Sansa was worried at the prospect of Robb fighting in a war.  It didn’t seem so long ago that she had watched him in the yard at Winterfell with only a wooden sword.

“As for Dorne, they’re with us.”  Jon smiled.  “The man who helped me rescue you, that’s Ser Arthur Dayne.  They were one of my first allies.”

Sansa was shocked.  “I thought Ser Arthur was dead.  Father said…”

“Ser Arthur was there when I was born,” Jon said.  “He’s been protecting my aunt and uncle in Essos since then.  Father faked his death so that his story wouldn’t be questioned.  House Dayne has also been covering up my whereabouts for the past four years that I’ve been in Essos.”

_Well that explains some things_ , Sansa thought.  “What about the other Dornish houses?” Sansa asked.

Jon grimaced.  “House Martell wants revenge for their murdered kin, just like me.  Rhaegar and Lyanna may have insulted their princess, but it was Lannisters who murdered her and her children.  The Martells and their vassals are with us as well.”

_Us_ , Jon had said _.  I’m part of this now.  Just yesterday, I was a hostage forced to marry a Lannister, now I’m sailing off to fight them_ , Sansa thought.  The realization made her remember something.

“Why did you take Lord Tyrion?” Sansa asked.

“Why not?” Jon answered breezily.  “Ser Arthur thinks he may have valuable information.  At the very least, he could have some value as a hostage.  Assuming he didn’t touch you.  He won’t make much of a hostage without his head.”

Sansa paled.  “Tyrion isn’t like the other Lannisters.  He was always kind to me.  He intervened when Joffrey had his guards strip and beat me before the court.”

Jon’s face went white.  “Joffrey had his guards _strip and beat you_?” he asked, his hands balling into fists.

“Yes,” Sansa replied.  “But Lord Tyrion was furious with him and demanded that they stop.  And he didn’t touch me.”  Jon nodded, still fuming.

Sansa sighed.  “I don’t want you to hurt him.  I don’t know what use he’d be to you.  Lord Tywin doesn’t trust him.  I doubt he knows anything of value.  I don’t think they’d give up anything important to get him back.  But I don’t want him harmed on my account.  He was forced into the marriage just like me.”

“If that’s your wish, Sansa, then I swear no harm will come to him.”

Sansa felt something wet nudge her hand.  She looked down.  “Ghost!” she exclaimed, startled.

Jon scratched the direwolf’s ear.  “What are you doing out here boy, hmm?  You remember Sansa?”

Sansa ran her fingers through Ghost’s fur and sighed.  “I miss Lady,” she said.  “Father sent her and Nymeria back to Winterfell after Nymeria knocked Joffrey into the dirt and growled at him on our way to King’s Landing.” 

“Why’d she do that?” Jon asked.

“Joffrey pointed his sword at Arya and attacked her friend,” Sansa replied.  “He tried to lie and say Arya had attacked him, but I saw what happened and told the king as much.  The queen wanted Nymeria’s skin anyway, but father wouldn’t stand for it.  He said Joffrey had attacked his daughter and it’s only because the wolves are so well-trained that the prince’s throat wasn’t torn out.  Then he said he would send them back to Winterfell if it pleased the king and the king told the queen to ‘be silent, woman!’”  Sansa laughed.

“Good wolf,” Jon said.  “She should’ve bitten his stones off.”

Sansa gasped and feigned outrage.  “Jon!  Such language!  And in front of a lady!”

Jon pulled Sansa into an embrace.  “Not just a lady,” he said, his voice heated.  “My lady.  My queen.”

“Yes,” Sansa replied.  She captured Jon’s lips with hers.  “Your lady.”


	8. Chapter 8

King’s Landing

_Swift as a deer.  Quiet as a shadow.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Quick as a snake.  Calm as still water.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Strong as a bear.  Fierce as a wolverine.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  The man who fears losing has already lost.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Fear cuts deeper than swords._

Arya quickly and stealthily slipped through the streets of King’s Landing, being sure not to call attention to herself.  She wanted to run, but it would only draw unwanted eyes on her.  She thought it was probably an overreaction, but a gold cloak had looked in her direction and it had set Arya on edge.  She had developed an instinct for avoiding dangerous people in the months she had been living on the streets of Flea Bottom following her father’s arrest and her subsequent escape from the Red Keep.  Instinct had kept her alive.

Hair cut short and dressed like a boy, Arya blended in with the other street urchins.  She had cut her hair herself, taking Needle to her brown locks after wiping the blood of the stable boy she had killed on her dress.  Then she had stolen his clothes.  They were far too big for her, but at least they didn’t scream “high-born northern girl” like her own probably did.

She hadn’t meant to kill the stable boy.  She hadn’t meant to not kill him either.  It just happened.  She couldn’t regret it now.  If it hadn’t happened, she’d be in the Lannister’s clutches just like Father and Sansa.  Or not, maybe.  She’d heard rumors on the street that the traitor Hand and his daughter had escaped the city.  Or been kidnapped, depending on who was telling the story.  It was hard to discern the truth.  The only thing she was sure of was that she was trapped in King’s Landing alone.

_When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,_ Arya remembered her father saying.  She tried not to think of that.  But she wasn’t truly alone, Arya reasoned.  In a way, Jon was here with her.  She clutched Needle’s pommel under her cloak, taking care to keep it hidden.  Jon had given her the sword before he left for Dorne four years ago.  It had saved her life more than once.

Life on the streets wasn’t easy, but Arya had become adept at staying alive.  She could sneak around, disappear in crowds, and had honed her skill at stealing food and coin.  She wasn’t even sure how long it had been that she had been on the streets.  She had thought many times of trying to escape the city, but the gates and the harbor were too well guarded.  She knew that the Lannisters had not given up the search for her.  If only she could get away and run to the Riverlands.  She knew Robb was there.  She had heard whispers of the Young Wolf’s march south.  But Arya was stuck and she knew it.  There was no way out.

Arya looked around.  The gold cloak was gone.  She was certain that he wasn’t following her.  But someone else was.  She had seen a boy about her age with light colored hair and dressed in fine clothes when she had spotted the gold cloak.  Now, half an hour and several turns down streets and alleyways later, she spotted the same boy again.

Arya’s heart pounded.  _Quick as a snake_.  She scurried to the end of the street, dodging a pushcart full of pastries and a woman carrying a basket of laundry.  “Watch yourself, gutter rat!” the woman yelled.  Arya paid no heed to the woman, spotting a narrow alleyway to her right.  She saw it was deserted.  Perfect.

_Quiet as a shadow_.  Arya slipped into the alleyway.  She drew Needle and relaxed her breathing.  She remembered Syrio’s words to her.  _The man who fears losing has already lost_.  The boy followed her into the alley.  _Fear cuts deeper than swords_.

Arya pounced.  She had Needle at the boy’s throat before he had even been able to think about drawing a weapon.  _Stupid boy_ , she thought.

“Who are you and why are you following me?” Arya demanded.

The boy blinked, looked down at her sword, and took a ragged breath.

“Seven hells girl, don’t kill me,” the boy said.

Arya paled.  How did he know she was a girl?

“WHO ARE YOU?” Arya repeated.

“Edric Dayne,” he spat out.

Arya made no move to lower Needle.  “And why are you following me, Edric Dayne?”

“I recognized you from the Hand’s tourney.  Your hair is shorter and you’re wearing boy’s clothes, but I knew it was you.  You have a distinctive face.”

“A distinctive face,” Arya sneered, levelling a glare at him.  “A horse face, you mean.”  Arya had been called Arya Horseface more times than she could count.  She distracted herself with the imagined insult, deliberately avoiding considering that her “distinctive” face might be recognized by others.

“No!” Edric protested.  “You look like Lord Stark.  You’re his missing daughter, Arya Stark.”

Arya tried to keep her face impassive and her breathing steady.  Even if this boy truly was Edric Dayne, it was still very bad that she had been recognized.  “Does my brother know that you’re here seeking me out?”

Edric looked confused.  “Your brother, my lady?  I’ve never met any of your brothers.”

“Liar!” Arya hissed.  “My brother Jon went to foster at Starfall four years ago.  You’re the Lord of Starfall, ‘ _Edric Dayne_ ,’ are you not?”

Edric narrowed his eyes.  “Yes.  I am.  But I’ve never met Jon Snow, because he never came to Starfall.  He’s been in Pentos this whole time.  I suppose Lord Stark didn’t see fit to tell you of Jon’s true whereabouts.  Now will you lower your sword?  My uncle helped your father escape from the dungeons of the Red Keep.  I’m probably the only person in King’s Landing who doesn’t want you dead or captured.  Now do you want my help getting out of here, or not?”

Arya hesitated.  How could she be sure this boy was telling her the truth?  She did not have long to consider what to do.  Someone else could happen upon them in this alley at any time.  “Your uncle helped my father?  What’s his name?”

Edric sighed emphatically.  “Ser Arthur Dayne, the bloody Sword of the Morning.  And before you ask, yes, he’s alive.  Now I ask you again, do you want to get out of here?”

Arya was still unsure, but she lowered Needle.  This Edric Dayne could turn her over to the Lannisters or he could help her.  Either way, she couldn’t remain in King’s Landing.  She’d already been recognized, and it could easily happen again.  Anyone could be listening, even now.

“Alright, Edric Dayne.  How do you plan to get me out of King’s Landing?” Arya asked.

Edric sighed, exasperated.  “King’s Landing has seven gates.  Which do you like best?”

Arya smirked at him.  She had noted his obvious sarcasm, but decided to answer him anyway.  “The King’s Gate has the stupidest guards.”

“Fine by me,” Edric replied.  “You can dress as one of my household servants and if the guards are as stupid as you say, I doubt they will give us any trouble.”

“Will you take me to the Riverlands, to my brother Robb?” Arya asked hopefully.

Edric shook his head.  “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a war going on in the Riverlands.  I’d like to steer clear of it while travelling with Lord Stark’s daughter.  We’ll go to Starfall.  I’d like to go home anyway.  This city stinks.  You can write to your brother once we arrive and he can decide what to do with you.”

Arya nodded her head in assent.  She would prefer to return to her family, but liked the idea of travelling to Dorne.  If she went to Robb, he would probably just insist she return to Winterfell anyway.  Arya was curious to see the home of the legendary warrior queen Nymeria, one of her heroes and the namesake of her direwolf. 

“Meet me here tomorrow at midday,” Edric said.  “I’ll be ready to leave the city and I’ll bring you clothes.  Until then, stay out of sight.  And try not to stab me when we meet again.”

Arya glared at him.  “You were following me, stupid.  What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” Edric bit out.  “To not get stabbed, maybe?  Like I said, stay out of sight.”  He shook his head.  “Jon owes me after all this trouble, seven hells,” he muttered.

The next day, Arya felt a sense of smug satisfaction when her appraisal of the King’s Gate guards proved accurate.  The guards had given the young Lord of Starfall no trouble at the gate and bid him a safe journey back to Dorne.  They hadn’t once glanced at Dyanna the serving girl.

“I told you the King’s Gate guards were stupid,” Arya said once they were well away from the gate.

“Everyone in King’s Landing is stupid as far as I’m concerned,” Edric replied.  “Why they stay in a city reeking of shit is beyond me.  Speaking of reeking of shit, I’m having your clothes burned.  I hope that dress suits you well enough.”

Arya scowled.  The dress most certainly did not suit her.  “I want my sword back.”

“You can have it when we get to Starfall,” Edric replied.  “Serving girls don’t carry swords.”

This irritated Arya.  “It wouldn’t do any good for you to have it,” Arya taunted him.  “I bet you don’t even know how to use a sword.”

The taunt worked.  “I know more than the likes of you, wolf girl.  You think I want to keep your little sword?”  Edric snorted.  “My uncle is the Sword of the Morning.  Daynes are legendary swordsmen.  I’ll wield Dawn one day.  I don’t need your stupid toothpick.”

Arya bristled.  “I trained as a water dancer with Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos,” she hissed.  “And Needle is not a stupid toothpick.  Jon had it made especially for me.”

Edric raised an eyebrow at that.  “He did?  Well, Arya the Water Dancer, like I said, you can have your Needle back when we get to Starfall.  There’s no telling who may come upon us on the road.  You’ll need to keep up the serving girl ruse until we get there.”  He smirked.  “Perhaps even after, if you keep irritating me.”

Arya did not like this little Dornish lordling a bit, but at least she could be reasonably sure that he wasn’t going to turn her over to the queen now that they were out of King’s Landing.  Most likely he had been telling the truth about the rest as well.

“Why didn’t my brother go to Starfall?” Arya asked.  “And what is he doing in Pentos?  Why is House Dayne helping us?”

Edric sighed.  “You are trouble, you know that?  I would have thought a girl such as yourself would falling all over herself with gratitude at being rescued from that cesspit, not insulting me and peppering me with questions.  If Lord Stark did not think to tell you, I don’t see why I should.  And I am certain that you wouldn’t believe me if I did tell you.”

“Try me,” Arya said.  “You could have turned me over to the queen and you didn’t.  I heard that my father escaped, so someone must have helped him.  It’s reasonable enough that you might have been telling me the truth yesterday.”  She sighed, resigned.  “And I’m sorry for insulting you, _Lord Dayne_.  Now can you tell me what’s going on?”

Edric smiled at her indulgently.  “I suppose you’ll find out soon in any case.  Fine.  It is always House Dayne’s great honor to serve the rightful king of Westeros.  That’s your cousin, Jon.  He was quite keen on you leaving King’s Landing with your head still attached.  See?  I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

Arya regarded him with disgust.  “Fine.  Don’t tell me then.  You don’t need to come up with some stupid lies.”

Edric said nothing.  It would be a long journey to Starfall.

 

_The Haunted Forest_

_6 months earlier_

Benjen Stark rode hard through the Haunted Forest towards Castle Black.  A sworn brother of the Watch for over 16 years, Benjen knew every rock and every tree in this forest.  Even as a green boy, he hadn’t been afraid here.  Not like this.

He was alone now.  The White Walkers had killed the rest of his party.  Benjen had barely escaped with life.  He regretted that he had had to leave his fallen brothers behind, but he didn’t have a choice.  He had to warn Lord Commander Mormont.  Winter was truly coming, and the dead with it.

As Benjen came within sight of the Wall, he was relieved to see a flash of black to his left.  He hadn’t seen Midnight since the White Walkers had ambushed Benjen and his brothers.  He had worried for the direwolf who had made it possible for him to escape the otherworldly creatures that Benjen had not wanted to believe had ever existed, let alone returned.

_The creature had skin as pale as ice and blue eyes that glowed with malice.  How can they glow? Benjen wondered.  The Walker raised a sword that appeared to be made of ice and slashed downwards.  Waymar Royce swung his sword to block the blow.  The steel sword shattered on impact.  A second later, Royce’s head came off in one vicious blow of the ice sword.  One by one, his brothers were cut down.  The Walker came for Benjen, and Midnight jumped in front of him.  The wolf was knocked out the air and fell to the snow-covered ground with a pained yelp.  It gave Benjen just enough time to spur his horse into a gallop away from the Walkers.  He couldn’t bring himself to look back._

It appeared that the White Walker’s blow hadn’t seriously injured Midnight.  He loped alongside Benjen’s horse.  “You okay, boy?” Benjen asked the direwolf.  Midnight chuffed in answer.  Benjen felt a rush of guilt that while he and his wolf had emerged from the conflict unscathed, his brothers had all perished.

Benjen had found Midnight and six other direwolf pups five years before while riding back to Winterfell after dealing with a Night’s Watch deserter.  Benjen had been on one of his infrequent visits to Winterfell when they had received word that a deserter had been captured by Ned’s men.  As Warden of the North, Ned had been the one to administer the sentence of beheading.  Benjen felt sorry for the lad, but desertion meant death and all the brothers knew it.

Direwolves hadn’t been seen south of the Wall in hundreds of years.  Benjen had been shocked by the sight of the huge she-wolf that had been killed in a fight with a stag.  It was even more surprising to find the pups.  Ned and his master-at-arms Rodrik Cassell had been inclined to kill the pups, but Benjen’s nephew Jon had convinced Ned to spare the direwolves’ lives and give them to the Stark children.

_“Lord Stark,” Jon said.  “There are five pups.  One for each of the Stark children.  The direwolf is a sigil of your house.  They were meant to have them.”  Ned had relented, and the five pups were gathered up to take back to Winterfell.  Benjen had felt sad at that; Jon was always so aware that he wasn’t a true Stark, that he was just Ned’s bastard.  One more year, Benjen thought.  He should know the truth.  That was when Jon and Benjen had heard squeaking sounds by the stream.  Two more pups, one snow white and one solid black, were cuddled together.  Jon picked up the white one by the scruff of his neck and looked at the tiny direwolf, amazed.  “The runt of the litter.  That one’s yours, Snow,” Theon Greyjoy said.  Ned’s Iron Islander ward had smirked at Jon at that.  “Uncle Benjen,” Jon said, ignoring Theon.  “You should take this pup.  All black, for the Watch.”  Benjen nodded and scooped up the black direwolf.  Midnight black, he thought.  “Hello, Midnight,” he said._

Midnight had been with him since that time.  Some of the other brothers of the Watch had been wary of the wolf at first, but Midnight had been easy to train and had been an asset in many rangings north of the wall.  He had saved Benjen’s life more than once, this time included.  He had warned him of wildlings’ movements and on two occasions, ripped out the throat of wildlings who had thought to spill the blood of the Night’s Watch’s First Ranger.  Midnight had become a brother of the Night’s Watch in his own right, to some extent.  None of the brothers asked for the wolf to be kenneled now.

Midnight continued to lope along Benjen’s horse as they approached Castle Black.  Benjen heard a single horn blast to signal rangers returning.  He went through the tunnel and was met by Lord Commander Mormont.

“Where is the rest of your party, Stark?” Mormont asked.

Benjen dismounted his horse and faced the Lord Commander.  “We were attacked by a group of White Walkers and wights.  The Walkers’ weapons cut through our steel like it was nothing.  Everyone else was killed.  I was only able to escape because of Midnight.”  In spite of the shame he felt at coming back alone, Benjen relayed the rest of the report as dispassionately as he could.

Mormont was silent as he listened to Benjen speak.  When he finished, the Lord Commander had paled but answered him calmly.  “White Walkers haven’t been seen in thousands of years.  Are you sure about this, Stark?”

Benjen regarded the Lord Commander soberly.  “They’re back.”  Midnight elaborated on Benjen’s statement by dropping the severed hand of a wight from his jaws at the Lord Commander’s feet.  The fingers twitched slightly as the hand hit the ground and then went still.  To his credit, the Old Bear registered no visible sign of shock, although Benjen could hear a few shocked curses from some of the other brothers who were standing nearby.

The Lord Commander spoke with calm authority.  “The Night’s Watch is unprepared to face this threat.  We are barely able to deal with the wildlings.  We’re low on supplies, we can only man three castles on the wall, and we’re down to a few hundred men.  Many of them are old men or else green boys.  How can what has been allowed to become a forgotten, frozen penal colony face down an army of ice monsters and dead men?” Mormont asked.

Benjen didn’t have an answer for him.  He knew as well as the Old Bear what the Watch had become.  “Before we fell under attack, we found several abandoned wildling camps.  I think they’re planning something, or running from something.  If they’re running from White Walkers, it won’t be long before they try to attack the Wall.  Do you think the king will send us aid if we inform him of the wildling threat?  I don’t expect he’ll believe that the monsters from his wet nurse’s bedtime stories have come to life.”

The Lord Commander stiffened.  “You’ve been gone for some time, Stark.  There’s been some developments in the south.  To answer your question, though, no.  I don’t think the king will aid us at all.  King Robert is dead.  His son Joffrey now sits the Iron Throne.  King Joffrey has imprisoned Lord Stark and your nephew has called his banners.  War is coming to Westeros, and the Wall will be the last thing on anyone’s mind no matter what threat we say is coming.”

Benjen’s face went white with fury.  “Imprisoned my brother?  On what charge?”

Mormont sighed.  “Treason.  No details were provided, and I haven’t been able to find out anything else.”  The Old Bear looked almost sympathetic, but continued.  “I understand you’re angry.  And I doubt Ned Stark committed treason just as you must doubt it.  But you know as well as I do that the Wall is what matters, not what happens in the south.”

Benjen fixed his face into an icy mask.  “I remember my vows, Lord Commander.  You don’t need to remind me.”  Inside, Benjen’s heart raced.  _The Old Bear doubts Ned committed treason.  Most would doubt it.  But I don’t.  I know he did.  We both did_.  Benjen didn’t feel that it was actually treason.  Quite the opposite.  But House Baratheon wouldn’t see it that way.  Had Ned’s actions been discovered? 

Benjen steeled himself to continue.  “And you’re right.  The Wall is what matters.  If the new king doesn’t understand that, then he must be made to understand.  Someone should take that hand to King’s Landing and show him.  I’ll write my nephew.  Southerners can think what they will about the Wall, but House Stark has always supported the Watch.  War or no, we must prepare for this threat.”

The Lord Commander gave him a sharp nod and disappeared into the castle.  Benjen blew out a breath.  _Winter is coming_ , he thought.


	9. Chapter 9

Pentos

“ _Ñuha lēkia_ ,” Dany thought.  _No, No_.  She tried to open her eyes but her vision swam; her head pounded.  She was vaguely aware of being carried.  “Viserys,” she said.  “ _Ñuha lēkia_.”

“Shh, Dany,” she heard Ned’s voice answer her muttered plea.  “Just rest now, Princess.  You’ve hit your head, but you’re going to be fine.  You’re safe now.”

She closed her eyes and surrendered to sleep.

_“Look, Dany,” Viserys said, eyes sparkling.  “The tree outside has fruit on it now.  I brought you some lemons.  What do you think of that, Princess?”_

_Dany squealed with delight, letting the red door fall closed behind her.  She ran to her brother, and he handed her a bright yellow lemon with a green leaf still attached.  Viserys set down the sack of lemons and Dany jumped into his arms._

_“Thank you, brother,” she said._

_“Remember your lessons, Dany,” he replied.  “How do you say ‘brother’ in our mother tongue?”_

_Dany screwed up her face and thought a moment.  “Ñuha lēkia,” she said confidently._

_Viserys smiled widely.  “Very good!  Spoken like a true dragon princess!”_

_Dany beamed.  “Let’s go make some lemonade with these, hmm?” Viserys said.  Dany nodded excitedly._

Dany slowly opened her eyes.  Her head still hurt, but it was bearable now.  Light spilled through the window of the bedchamber.  She wondered how long she had been asleep.  She turned her head and saw Ned slumped over in a chair at her bedside.

“Ned?” she rasped, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Dany,” he gasped.  “How are you feeling?  I’ll get the healer.”  He started to get up and leave the room.

“Ned, wait,” she said.  “I’m well.  Please tell me what happened.  Is Viserys alright?”

Ned’s face fell and he closed his eyes a moment before speaking.  Dany’s heart stopped and she knew before Ned could even answer.  Her eyes filled with tears.

Ned swallowed hard.  “I’m sorry, Dany.  He was attacked first.  The healers did what they could, but he did not survive.”

Dany let out a loud sob.  She gasped, but she couldn’t get a breath.  She sprang out of bed, but then sank to the floor.  Ned grabbed her and held her tight.  She kept sobbing, but she could breathe again.

Suddenly she stopped crying and took a deep breath _.  I am the blood of the dragon.  A dragon does not cry_.  She let go of Ned and stood up straight.

“I’m so sorry, Dany,” Ned repeated.

“What happened?” Dany asked.

Ned took a deep breath and met her eyes.  “Two assassins disguised themselves as Illyrio’s guests for the feast.  They were hired by Tywin Lannister.  Prince Oberyn was able to capture one alive.  We’ve been questioning him.”

Dany nodded.  “And the other?”

“The assassin who was trying to kill you is dead,” Ned replied.

“You killed him,” Dany said.  Her eyes were dry and her voice even. 

Ned nodded gravely.  “Aye.  He came up behind you with a dagger.  That’s why I knocked you down.”  He winced and looked at her with concern.  “I cut him in two with Ice.  I’m sorry that I hurt you.  Are you sure that you’re well?”

Dany clasped Ned’s hand.  His eyes, which always looked sad, were even more pained.  “Hurt me?  You didn’t hurt me, Ned.  You saved my life.”

There was a knock at the door.  “Who is it?” Ned asked.  He dropped Dany’s hand.

“Oberyn Martell.  May I come in, Lord Stark?”  Ned looked at Dany and she nodded.

“You may enter, Prince Oberyn,” Ned replied.

Oberyn entered and took in Dany’s stricken face.  “I am sorry for your loss, Princess,” Oberyn said solemnly.

Dany inclined her head in acknowledgment.  “I thank you for capturing my brother’s murderer.”  She looked at the two men.  “What is to be done with the assassin?”

Ned and Oberyn exchanged a look.  “He will die for this, Princess,” Oberyn said.  The Red Viper’s voice was quiet but dangerous. 

“He has given you all the information he has that may be of value?” Dany asked.  She had realized over the course of the few minutes since she had woken that with Jon gone and Viserys murdered, she would be responsible for representing House Targaryen and seeing that their enemies met justice.

“Yes,” Oberyn said.  “There’s something else you should know, Lord Stark.  I knew that it could not have been Varys who arranged for the assassins, so after you left, I questioned him further.  It was Littlefinger who hired them.”

Ned clenched his teeth and Oberyn continued.  “The assassin, Karl Tanner, said Baelish paid him and then left King’s Landing for the Eyrie.”

“Who is Littlefinger?” Dany asked.

Ned scowled.  “Littlefinger – Petyr Baelish – is the reason I was arrested.  He’s the reason war has broken out between House Stark and House Lannister.”

Dany’s face was cold and her voice calm.  “He dies.  First Tanner, then Baelish.  I will see to Tanner myself.”

Ned tried to object.  “Dany, it’s not an easy thing, beheading a man.  You must…”

Dany cut him off.  “I’m not beheading anyone,” she said coldly.  “He killed my brother.  A Prince of House Targaryen.  He burns.”  She turned to Oberyn.  “Prince Oberyn, could you ask Illyrio to arrange for a pyre to be built?  I need to lay my brother to rest.”

“Are you sure, Princess?” Oberyn asked.

“It’s our family’s tradition,” Dany replied.  Oberyn nodded and left the room.

Dany asked Ned to leave her to dress.  She wanted some time to prepare herself for what was to come and to be alone.  For the first time in her life, she truly was alone.  Viserys had always been with her.  She had never expected a day would come when her older brother wouldn’t be there to protect her.  She looked over at the dragon eggs displayed in their crate.  She felt the weight of responsibility for her house’s future settle over her.  She knew that Jon was out there, but he was half a world away.  This duty would fall to her.  She walked over and picked up the black egg.  It felt as hot as ever, and in that moment, Daenerys knew what she must do.

Once the pyre had been built, she carried the dragon eggs outside to where the pyre waited.  She ran her fingers along the eggs’ hardened scales and gazed at them with a sad smile.  They were hot to her touch.  She carried the eggs one by one and placed them on the pyre around Viserys’ body.  When she was finished, she touched her brother’s cheek tenderly.

“You were always the one to protect me, _ñuha lēkia_ ,” she said.  “Now it is up to me to avenge you, and I will not fail, just as you never failed me.  I will bring you justice.  I will bring your murderers fire and blood.”

She saw that a crowd had gathered.  Ned, Oberyn and his retinue, and Illyio and his household all had their eyes on her.  Karl Tanner was present, tied up and in the custody of Oberyn’s men.  She turned to the Martell guardsman.  “Bind Tanner to the pyre,” she said loud enough for the assembled crowd to hear.

She felt Ned’s hand on her shoulder.  “Dany,” he said.  _If I look back, I am lost_ , she thought.  She walked out of his grasp and faced the onlookers.  Tanner had been tied to the pyre as she had asked.  She knelt to set the pyre aflame with her torch.  Night had fallen, but her fire illuminated the area where they had all gathered to witness her brother being laid to rest and justice done for his murder.

“In the north of Westeros, it is said by the ancestors of our king that the man who passes the sentence shall swing the sword,” Daenerys said in a loud, clear voice.  “I do not wield a sword.  Instead, I wield fire and blood.  The enemies of House Targaryen shall die by fire and those who would think to harm my blood will die screaming.”

She regarded Tanner dispassionately.  “Karl Tanner, in the name of Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm; I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen sentence you to die.  Do you have any last words?”

“You won’t hear me scream, dragon bitch,” Tanner spat.

Daenerys looked at him with contempt.  “I will.  But it’s not your screams I want; only your life.”

She walked over to Ned, who had a pained expression on his face.  “I’m sorry, Ned,” she said quietly.  “I know this isn’t something you’d like to see.  But you understand why I had to do it?  Why it had to be me?”  He nodded almost imperceptibly in response, his eyes never leaving the pyre.

The pyre was completely wreathed in flame, and Dany could see the flames’ reflection in Ned’s sad gray eyes.  She looked once more at the other onlookers.  No one could look away.  Oberyn gripped his spear, staring at Tanner with hate in his eyes.

Tanner squirmed and fought his bindings as his clothes caught fire.  Gasps soon turned to screams.  Like a sword in the darkness, the high-pitched shrieks pierced the mild night air of Pentos.

Dany closed her eyes and felt it.  The pull to move forward toward the flames.  _It’s my dream_ , she thought.  _They’re waiting for me_.  She walked forward and felt the heat on her face.  She was barely aware of Ned pleading with her and grabbing her wrist.

“Let go, Ned,” she said.  “Can’t you feel it?  Don’t be afraid.”  He looked bewildered, but dropped her hand.

Daenerys walked to the center of the pyre.  With the roar of flames in her ears and the ashes of her clothes falling around her, Dany knelt beside the three glowing eggs.  With a sound like a clap of thunder, the first egg cracked open.  The second soon followed, and then the third.

Three baby dragons crawled into Dany’s arms and onto her shoulder.  She didn’t feel the passing of time as the fire burned out around her.  When all that was left were embers, Dany stood and walked out of the pyre.

Stunned cries greeted Daenerys Targaryen as the crowd fell to their knees as she walked naked from the ashes of Viserys Targaryen and a Flea Bottom cutthroat.  The first dragons to live in 150 years shrieked into the night over Pentos.

 

_The Bay of Crabs_

_Earlier that day_

“It’s been a week.  Do you think it’s time to speak with him yet?” Arthur asked.

Jon considered the knight’s question a moment.  “It should have been long enough to unsettle him a bit.  I wouldn’t have him think that we’re desperate to talk with him.  Even if we were, what could we do with any information he gives us before we reach Maidenpool?”

Arthur nodded in agreement.  “Will you question him or would you rather I do it?”

“I’ll do it,” Jon said.

They had made a cell out of one of the ship’s small cabins for Tyrion to be kept in, although they did not see that there was much risk of him escaping out at sea.  Jon and Arthur both went inside where they found Tyrion sitting on a small cot.  The little Lannister lord looked haggard.  With the three of them, it was quite cramped inside.  Both Jon and Arthur had swords at their hips, not that there was much point to it in the small space.  The dwarf wasn’t much of a threat to them regardless.

Arthur stood near the door and Jon sat on a wooden crate across from Tyrion.  The dwarf eyed them both shrewdly.  Jon just sat and stared at him blankly, not saying anything for a long while.  Eventually, Tyrion broke the silence.

“My lords,” Tyrion began uncertainly.  “My name is Tyrion Lannister.  May I inquire about my wife, the Lady Sansa?  Is she well?”

“We know who you are, Lord Tyrion,” Jon answered evenly.

“Then I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, my lord,” Tyrion answered.

“Do I?” Jon said flatly, not quite in the tone of a question.  “I’m not so sure that I do.”

Jon paused a moment and when Tyrion didn’t respond, Jon continued.  “Your father murdered my sister, my infant brother, and their mother.  Your good-brother killed my father.  Your family imprisoned and then conspired to kill my uncle.  You held captive and tried to steal my betrothed.” 

Jon stared at him, his eyes cold and dangerous.  His voice dripped with venom.  “Don’t you know me?”

Tyrion’s eyes widened.  “Aegon Targaryen,” he said finally.

“’Your Grace,’” Jon corrected him at once.

“The Lady Sansa,” Tyrion repeated.  “Is she well?  _Your Grace_.”

“She’s quite well.” Jon replied, ignoring the bite in the Lannister’s tone.  “You needn’t trouble yourself on her behalf any longer.  She’s being well looked after.  You can consider yourself relieved of any obligations you thought you might have towards her.”

“While I am happy to hear that she’s well, I swore a vow to protect her as her husband,” Tyrion said.  “I can’t very well consider myself relieved of that vow on the word of a stranger.”

Jon flexed his sword hand and stared at the imp, whose eyes followed the motion.  He knew he was letting his anger show.  He needed to be in control if he wanted to get useful answers from this questioning.  It occurred to Jon that this was probably the reason Arthur had volunteered to question the Lannister. 

“That’s very noble,” Jon said contemptuously.  “But we already established that we aren’t strangers.  I know who you are, and you know me.  Lady Sansa has informed me that your marriage was not consummated and therefore, not valid.  Something you won’t have a chance to correct, I’m afraid.  Although it’s fortunate for you, as if it weren’t the case, I would have already cut you in half and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“That would make me the quarter-man rather than the half-man,” Tyrion said.  “It doesn’t quite have the same ring.”

Jon caressed Blackfyre’s pommel and eyed Tyrion speculatively.  “You’re funny.  A pity I don’t have any need of a fool as yet; it’s wasted on me.”

“Then why did you bring me with you?” Tyrion asked.  “I’m not useful to you as a hostage.  My father wouldn’t give anything up to get me back.”

“From what I understand, he was willing to start a war the last time you were taken,” Jon said.

“At this point, I’m sure he is much more concerned about my brother.  With the disappearance of Lady Sansa, I am of no use to him.”

Jon ignored this.  He wasn’t interested in Jaime Lannister at the moment.  Jon had already decided that the Kingslayer would meet a suitable fate for what he had done to Bran.

“Where is Arya Stark?” Jon asked.

Tyrion shook his head.  “No one knows.  She disappeared the day of Lord Stark’s arrest and hasn’t been seen since.”

Jon already knew this, but he wanted to hear what the dwarf would say.  It could be an indicator of his truthfulness.  He continued with his questioning.  “Where are the Lannister armies currently?”

Tyrion sighed.  “Do you imagine that my father keeps me informed of his activities?  He does not confide in me as much as you might hope.”

“You must know something,” Jon said.

“All I know is that my father left his army in the command of his brother Kevan when he left to travel to King’s Landing.  They were in the Riverlands at that time.”

Jon thought that that piece of information was less than useful, but he continued.  “What was Lord Tywin’s purpose in arranging your marriage to Lady Sansa?”

“To take control of the North, obviously,” Tyrion said, his tone mocking.  “He intends to defeat Robb Stark, dispose of him and his brothers, and install his son as Warden of the North with Sansa there to placate the northerners.”

“That plan had already gone to shit when I arranged for Lord Stark to leave King’s Landing with his head,” Jon said impatiently.  “How did he propose to deal with that?”

“I assume he had assassins sent to Pentos,” Tyrion said.  “He knows that’s where Stark went.  Varys said as much.”

“Did Varys arrange the assassins?”  Jon hoped that the answer was yes because he knew that Varys certainly would not have sent any.

“No,” Tyrion replied.  “My father asked him to, but he doesn’t trust Varys.  He would have had someone else do it, to make sure.  Baelish most likely.  They would have been sent to kill you and your aunt and other uncle as well.”

“You’ve said Lord Tywin planned to defeat Robb Stark and dispose of his brothers.  What was his plan for accomplishing that?” Jon asked, his tone arctic.

“He didn’t tell me, and I couldn’t even guess,” Tyrion said.

Jon was seething with rage but didn’t let it show.  He couldn’t let this dwarf think that he’d rattled him.  Jon noted that the Lannister was being suspiciously forthright.  He wondered if the imp was telling him the truth.

“You seem awfully eager to give up your family’s secrets, Lord Tyrion,” Jon observed.  “Why should I believe anything you have to say?”

Tyrion’s posture relaxed as if he was indifferent to this line of questioning.  “My father and nephew will never give up the throne.  They don’t have any hostages left to trade unless they find Lady Arya.  If I don’t answer your questions, I’m useless to you.  My father doesn’t reveal his strategies to me, so it isn’t as if I can tell you anything damaging to him.  It was his insistence on this marriage that put me in this predicament.  I was very much opposed to the match, as Lady Sansa can confirm for you.”

Jon was tiring of questioning the dwarf.  The only useful bit of knowledge that he had was something he would not be able to make use of.  If Baelish had sent assassins to Pentos, it would be too late to warn his family there.  He would have to arrange a message to be sent when they arrived at Maidenpool.

Jon turned to Arthur.  “What do you think, Ser Arthur?  Anything to add?”  Arthur shook his head and Tyrion’s eyes widened once again in shock, finally noticing and recognizing Jon’s companion.  Jon smirked derisively at the Lannister before he and Arthur left the cabin.


End file.
